


(Is There) Hope for a Bad Man

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Series: Road to Perdition [7]
Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Did I Mention Bad Behavior?, Drama, Internet porn, M/M, Manipulative Douchebaggery, Minor Violence, Poor Life Choices, Single Payer Could Have Prevented All of This, Voyeurism, bad behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14521008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: While working as a bike messenger, a terrible accident sends Mike to the hospital. His lengthy stay results in an interrupted life, and a staggering amount of medical debt. A stranger by the name of Harvey Specter appears and offers to pay off his debt. Only gradually does Mike come to realize what strings are attached to the offer, and that Harvey has his own agenda.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt “Bad Man.” This is Bad!Harvey at his baddest. Well, he’s not a murderer, but he’s pretty bad. I’m warning for Rape/Non-Con. This occurs later in the story, and not between Mike and Harvey. Seriously, though, Harvey is a dick, and Mike makes stupid choices. If you’re looking for fluff, or a S7 fix-it fic, this is not the fic you are looking for.
> 
> I plan to post one chapter per week. Six are written so far. Maybe … ten total?

Mike pedaled hard up Fifth Avenue, zig-zagging through traffic and ignoring the honking horns that trailed after him like a reverse fanfare.  Rain, which had been threatening all day, began to fall, mixing with the accumulated oils on the road to make it slick as glass. He didn’t slow down. He’d promised his dispatcher he could meet the deadline.

His thoughts were on his rent, which was five days late, the money he owed Trevor for all the pot he’d smoked in the past two months, the guy he'd drunkenly hooked up with last night who had turned out to be a selfish asshole, and the new tire he needed for his bike.  Despite the distracting thoughts flickering around the edges of his mind, he managed to watch traffic and remain alert to possible hazards.  A glance at his watch told him he had less than five minutes to make it to W. 57th, lock up his bike, and get to the 42nd floor.

The light at W. 54th was red, but he could see it was just about to change.  He slowed marginally, easing back on the pedals, and shot through the intersection just as the light turned green.  Unfortunately, a car traveling east on W. 54th ran the yellow (nearly red) light and reached the center of the intersection at the same time Mike did.

The last thing he saw was a shiny black sedan barreling straight for him.  He had no time to swerve or adjust.  The sound of screeching tires and a blaring horn filled his ears.  His entire body jolted, and then he was flying through space without his bike.  He hit the street, his head bounced and banged against the wet pavement, hot pain spiked through his leg, and the lights went out.

 

******

 

  **Six weeks later**

 

Mike slammed down the receiver of the hospital phone in frustration, cutting off the sound of Trevor’s recorded voice.  His best friend had evidently skipped town to avoid threats from a persistent loan shark, and would therefore not be picking Mike up to take him home.  This left him with no transportation.  He had less than ten dollars in his wallet, and about the same amount in his bank account.  He did have half a week’s paycheck waiting for him at work, but it would also cost him money to get there to pick it up.

The hospital had given him a pair of scrubs to wear home, since his clothes had been ruined in the accident.  One of the nurses had even gone so far as to scrounge up a coat from lost and found that almost fit him.  The sleeves didn’t quite make it past his wrists, but at least it would keep him warm.

The same thoughtful nurse – Karen – pushed a wheelchair into his room.  When she saw that he was up, and balancing on one foot, she clicked her tongue.  “Don’t even think about it, mister.  Hospital policy says we deliver you to your ride.  So, sit your ass down right here.”

This was his cue to tell her that he had been unable to find a ride, but he didn’t want to delay his departure any longer.  Getting home wasn’t even his biggest worry by then. 

He’d been unconscious for the first two weeks of his stay in the hospital.  He’d had swelling in his brain, and they’d induced a coma to give it time to subside.  His other injuries had included a fractured tibia, severely sprained wrist, and numerous other bruises and contusions.  Karen had told him that the only reason he’d survived at all was because he was wearing a helmet.  If he hadn’t been … She left the rest unsaid, but he shuddered as he imagined it.  His bike had been totaled.

By the time he’d regained consciousness and gotten himself oriented to his situation, it became clear that he wasn’t going anywhere for a few more weeks.  He had his own room, and a rather nice one at that.  They had to know he had no insurance.  The messenger company didn’t provide it, and he’d never gotten around to signing up for his own.

So now, as Karen wheeled him toward his non-existent ride, he finally got up the courage to say something about the situation.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Karen chuckled.  “I think you just did.”

“Um.  I just … how much is this all going to cost?  Ballpark.”

“Oh, tons and tons of money.”

“Shit.”

“But you don’t have to worry about it.  It’s all being taken care of.”

He turned his head to get a look at her face, certain that she was joking.  She appeared perfectly serious.  “By who?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose you could ask the billing department.  They might be able to tell you more.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, other than, “Wow.”

“Whoever it was even paid to fill the prescription for your pain medication.  Someone brought it by your room, I hope.”

They had, along with his discharge paperwork.  “Got it.”

“Well, be sure to take it on time.  You don’t want the pain to get ahead of you.”

They’d reached the front of the hospital.  Karen pushed the big metal button which opened the door automatically, and wheeled Mike outside.  His coat provided decent protection from the chilly wind, but his thin scrubs didn’t do much to keep the cold from his legs.  He looked up and down the curb for a free cab, wondering how far his ten dollars would take him, but saw only a shiny black town car idling in front of him.

“I should tell you,” he started to say, but just then the driver’s side door of the town car opened and a man in a dark suit rounded the car to open the backseat door. It looked as if he meant for Mike to get into the car.  “What?” he asked, confused.

“Mike Ross?”

“Yes, but … “

“I’m here to drive you home.”

“Okay, but … why?”

“Boss’s orders.”

He looked at Karen, and back to the unknown man.  His head began to pound, making him wish he’d taken a second pill before he left his room.  “What is happening right now?”

“Get in, and you can ask him yourself.”

Mike looked more closely through the darkly tinted windows, and realized that another man sat in the backseat of the town car.  Curious and confused, he used his crutches to lever himself to his feet and hobbled the few feet to the curb.  He kept one hand on the open door and leaned down for a closer look.  “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

The man gave him a bored glance.  “Get in.”

“Whoa.  Hold on.  Some stranger pulls up, offers me a ride, and you expect me to just get in your car?”

“I have some things you need to hear. After that, I’ll drop you anywhere you want to go.”

Mike debated rapidly with himself.  He did need a ride.  And who had ever heard of a serial killer with a car and driver?  Not that he was an expert on the subject. He glanced back at Karen to see what she thought, but she’d already taken the wheelchair back inside the hospital.

“Come on kid,” urged the stranger, “you’re letting in the cold.”  When Mike still didn’t move to get in, the man gave an impatient huff.  “I promise I’m not going to feed you into a wood chipper.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”  Mike hesitated for a few more seconds, but he knew he had zero other options in that moment, so he relented and lowered himself into the seat.  He started to drag his crutches in behind him, but the driver took them from him and propped them on the front passenger seat.  “Thanks,” he muttered, already enjoying the feel of the heated seat against his chilled backside.

The driver got in, put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

“How are you feeling?” asked the man next to Mike, before he could start quizzing him.

“Like I was hit by a car.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?”

“My apologies.  I neglected to introduce myself.  My name is Harvey Specter.  The man behind the wheel is my driver, Ray.”

“And you guys showed up to give me a ride home because … why, exactly?”

“Mike, what do you remember about your accident?”

“The accident?”  Mike scowled, trying to remember that day.  “Not much.  I was on my bike, out on a delivery, and this black car ran the …”  He trailed off as the pieces clicked into place.  “A shiny, black town car ran the red light and knocked me off my bike.  This was the car, wasn’t it?”

Ray spoke up from the front seat.  “That light was yellow.  You jumped the gun.”

“Bullshit.”

“Maybe,” suggested Harvey, “we could stipulate that it was a little of both.”

Mike’s ears had perked up.  “Stipulate?  Oh, shit.  You’re an attorney, aren’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

Mike had the sudden urge to leap out of the moving car.  “Oh, I get it.  I suppose this is the part where you shove some legal document in my face and convince me to sign away all my rights.”

“You’re misinterpreting the situation.”

“Maybe you plan to offer me a quick settlement, like a couple thousand bucks if I promise not to sue.”

“Are you going to sue me, Mike?”

“Not you.  Maybe I should sue Ray.”

“If you tried that, I'd just vouch for him.  It would be our word against yours. Two to one.  How would you rate your chances?”

“If that’s not why you showed up today, what am I doing here?”

“While I don’t admit to culpability, I’m not a complete monster.” He smiled coldly, displaying all his teeth. “I feel bad about what happened to you, and so does Ray.  That’s why I offered to pay for your hospital stay, and handled some of your affairs while you were out of commission these past weeks.”

“You handled my what, now?”

“Your affairs.  Even a first, cursory look at your life showed me that you were in dire need of someone to straighten up the mess you'd made of it.”

Mike let out a disbelieving laugh.  “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”  Harvey didn’t say anything in response.  “Okay, I’ll humor you.  What have you done to fix things for me?”

“The first thing I did was break the lease on your apartment.”

This information felt like a punch to Mike's gut. “What the fuck, man?  Where am I supposed to live?”

“You clearly couldn't afford the rent on your own.”

“I was a few days late.  So what?”

“As of today, you would have been over two months late, with no current earnings or savings to make up the deficit.  I terminated the lease and moved your things – the portion of them which were deemed salvageable – into storage.  I also informed your employer that you would be taking an extended leave of absence.”

A low burn of resentment had begun to simmer in Mike’s belly.  “I’m sure that went over well.  What did they say about that?”

“Not to bother to come back.”

“Sounds about right.  So, your idea of straightening out my life started with getting rid of both my home and my job?  What?  No smart answer to that?  I repeat: where am I supposed to live?  What am I …”  The hopelessness of Mike’s situation overwhelmed him all at once, and he laid his head on the back of his seat and moaned.  His headache had returned, more intense than before.  “Fuck it. Maybe I’ll take that quickie settlement after all.”

“Calm down.  First of all, there is no settlement.  Neither Ray nor I were at fault.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Secondly, you’re not homeless.  Not if you don’t want to be. I have a spare room in my condo, which I’ve prepared for you to live in while you convalesce.”

“Why … w-why … why would you do that?” 

“As I’ve said, although not at fault in the legal sense, I have chosen to accept some moral responsibility for what happened to you.”

“Your fucking car happened to me.  And maybe I have someone else I choose to stay with.”

“Are you speaking of friends or family?  Don’t bother trying to spin that lie out.  My investigator took a close look at your circumstances.  Your last family member died nine months ago.  And your so-called friend, Trevor Evans, was nothing but trouble.  You have me to thank for getting him out of your life for good.”

Rage made Mike speechless for several seconds.  He finally managed to splutter, “You?  That was you?  You had no right.”

“I believe I had every right to protect my investment.”

“Your _what_?”

“Mike, here's the thing.  Your lengthy stay in the hospital, and all the care you received there, was not cheap.  You’re partly to blame for that, as you have no insurance, but I’m willing to concede that, Affordable Care Act notwithstanding, healthcare in America is a ridiculous, sucking black hole.  Still, the fact remains that I asked the hospital to bill me.  I’ve also located an excellent physical therapist, who will be making house calls to my condo three times a week to get your leg back in good working order, once your doctor deems you sufficiently healed.  Again, not cheap.  Add to that a fair rental amount for the room, the storage unit, basic care and feeding, and …” 

Harvey reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to Mike, who took it and unfolded it. His mouth fell open in shock.

“Granted,” continued Harvey, “it’s only a preliminary estimate.  I’ll have more solid numbers for you in about a week or so.”

“Wait.”  Mike held up a hand, as if he could physically halt Harvey’s flow of words – insane words, at that.  “Just wait.  Let me get this straight.  You run me over in the street, nearly killing me, choose, _of your own free will_ , to pay my medical bills, and now you’re telling me you want me to pay for everything?  Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“So far, I’ve only offered to pay your bills.  Let’s be clear on that.  I requested that all bills be forwarded to me, but I haven’t paid anything yet.  I suspect the total medical bills will top one hundred thousand dollars.  Room and board, plus several months of physical therapy will add to that total. Eventually, I’d also like to include a personal trainer.”  He tapped the sheet of paper Mike held in his shaking hand.  “It’s all there, although like I said, this is just an estimate.”

“With a signature line,” Mike noted, voice tinged with disbelief.  “What, exactly, am I agreeing to?”

“Repayment.”

“You pointed out yourself I no longer have a job.  How do you expect me to repay you?”

“By working for me.”

“Doing what?”

Harvey waved a hand dismissively.  “We can hammer out the details later.  For now, you have a choice to make.  Sign the agreement and gain a place to sleep and food to eat, or take your chances on the street.  In your condition, with your limited resources, I don’t rate those chances highly.”

Mike took the pen Harvey handed him, and stared down at the piece of paper.  On the surface, this seemed like an exceedingly bad idea.  Hell, dig down a few feet and it was still a horrible idea. What other choice did he have, though?  Even if he scrounged up a place to stay, the mountain of debt hanging over his head would sink him for years, possibly decades.  And Harvey was a lawyer, something Mike had wanted to be since he was eleven years old.  Working for Harvey might be the closest Mike ever came to his dream job.

Later, he would have plenty of time to berate himself for his hasty decision, and to curse his stupidity.  Right now, he was exhausted, in pain, and disoriented.  He didn’t want to have to exit the car into the biting cold and figure out where to go.  He wanted to take a pill, or two, and float away on a soft, warm opioid cloud.  If he was thinking at all as he signed the paper, the thoughts were vague, and along the lines of, _fuck, why not?_ And, _I can always back out later._

Not smiling, but still managing to look smug, Harvey tucked the paper back into his pocket.  As if he had read Mike’s mind, he handed him a bottle of water.  “Take your pill.”

Mike took two pills, relaxing into the heated leather seats.  “Harvey Specter,” he said musingly.  He'd told Mike his name, but it wasn't until he saw it printed on the document he'd just signed that the memory clicked into place.  “Would that be Harvey Specter of Pearson Specter and Litt?”

“It would.”

“You know, I think maybe I’ve delivered there a few times.”  He yawned, letting his eyes drift closed.

“Yes, you have.  More than a few times.”

Mike let out a bitter huff.  “That’s some thorough investigator you’ve got.”

“I didn’t get that from her.  I’ve seen you prancing in and out of our office on multiple occasions.”

“Prancing?  Are you sure I wasn’t ‘frolicking’?  Or ‘cavorting’?”

“Prancing fits fine.  Baggy shorts.  Short-sleeved t-shirt over a long-sleeved thermal shirt."

Yawning past an uncomfortable laugh, Mike answered, "Yep.  Sounds like me."

"Cheeks reddened from your exertions.  Hair standing on end from your helmet."

Mike's hair was beginning to stand on end a little right now.  "Sounds like you're describing me for a lineup."  His jaw cracked in another huge yawn.

"Muscular calves," Harvey continued softly as if speaking to himself now.  "I'd be willing to bet your thighs are muscular as well.  Maybe less so now, after a month and a half in bed."

Mike wanted to say something in response, to call Harvey out for being a creep, but his tongue adhered to the roof of his mouth, and sleep was bearing down on him like an out of control freight train … or a shiny black town car running a red light.  Perhaps two pills had been a mistake.  "Don' forget," he slurred, "m' glutes."

As sleep sucked him under, he heard Harvey murmur something else that sounded like, "Oh, I haven't forgotten your perfect ass.  Not for a second."

 

 ******

 

Mike had no memory of getting out of Harvey’s car, or making his way to the elevator, or from there to the bedroom.  When he eventually climbed up out of the dark pit of sleep, he was lying on a plush mattress, with a puffy dark blue comforter pulled up to his armpits. 

He yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  Across the room, he spotted his crutches leaning against the wall, next to a framed black and white photograph of the Chrysler Building.  He flexed his ankle, feeling the expected twinge, muted only slightly by the earlier pain medication.  Turning his head, he discovered the prescription bottle on the nightstand, next to a bottle of water.

Mike wrenched the lid off the bottle, and shook two tablets into his palm. He swallowed them and washed them down with several gulps of water. Relaxing back into the pillows, he stared up at the ceiling light fixture, while he reviewed his situation. He’d lost his apartment, and his job. He’d acquired an insane amount of medical debt, which had been paid – or would be paid, according to their agreement – by Harvey Specter, leaving Mike severely in debt to him.

As he lay in bed, drifting, he wondered if he had grounds for a lawsuit against Harvey and his driver. After all, he wouldn’t be in this mess at all if they hadn’t run him over. Why should he be expected to repay Harvey? In fact, he could probably make the case that Ray – and Harvey – were responsible for all his hospital bills, and owed him on top of that for lost wages and mental suffering.

The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he became. Harvey had taken advantage of his weakened state, and stuck that legal document in front of him, in effect giving him no choice but to sign. The hell of it was, Harvey was a highly successful lawyer, so whatever he’d given Mike to sign, it was undoubtedly watertight.

In short, Mike was screwed.

As the enormity of his situation hit him, his spirits sank lower.  His thoughts went around and around in his head, spiraling down and down, and resolving nothing. Finally, just to turn it all off, he reached for the prescription bottle again, and took two more pills.

 

******

 

“What’s the matter with him?”

_Harvey._

Mike floated up out of the comfortable, cotton candy nothingness.

“How would I know? Maybe his body needs absurd amounts of sleep to heal.”

Mike forced his eyes open, to find Harvey, and a red-haired woman holding a computer tablet, standing next to his bed.

“What?” he croaked.

Harvey answered, “Mike meet Donna, my assistant. We were just wondering why you never woke up for breakfast or lunch.”

“Um.” Mike rubbed his lips together, trying to work up enough moisture to speak. He spotted the bottle of water and started to reach for it, but Harvey handed it to him. Gratefully, he drank it all down in one long, noisy gulp. “Head injury?”

“According to your doctor, that has resolved itself satisfactorily.”

“That’s private information. She’s not supposed to – ”

“And yet, she did. So, what’s going on?”

Mike scowled. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?” Harvey handed the pill bottle to Donna. “Count those.”

Mike struggled to sit up. Donna had emptied the bottle into her hand, and was actually counting. He wished he had more water, because his mouth and throat were bone dry.

Using her hand to funnel the pills back into the bottle, Donna delivered the verdict. “Eight short, based on the specified dosage.”

Harvey shook his head reproachfully. “It was a mistake to trust him, even in such a small thing. Too soon.” He took the bottle from Donna and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans. “Guess I’ll have to take charge. My plans don't include coddling a drug addict.”

“It’s for the pain.” Mike heard the whine in his own voice, but he didn’t care.

“And you’ll get what you need. When I say.”

“I need one now.”

Harvey eyed him skeptically. “Get up. Get dressed. Have some dinner, and then I’ll give you a pill.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“I bought you a week's worth of clothes.”

“Great. I suppose you added them to my tab?”

“Of course.”

_Of course._

"I hate my life," muttered Mike.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received a request to post more often. I've got the chapters, so I can do that. Once I get caught up with what I have, there could be a lag time while I finish up. But here you go. Let's go with twice a week for now.
> 
> Oh, and thanks for the comments and kudos. Much appreciated.

**Three Months Later**

 

Mike hated his thrice weekly physical therapy sessions. He hated Brice, his physical therapist. He hated his personal trainer, Greta, who showed up two months after he moved in with Harvey, and put him through hellish sessions in the gym in Harvey’s building. Most of all, he hated Harvey, his overbearing attitude, his seeming disdain for everything about Mike, and the power he held over Mike to get him to follow his rules.

The rules were simple enough. Up at six, to bed at ten. Don’t skip any meals, follow the physical regimen laid out by Brice and Greta, never say no to Harvey, and show him at least a modicum of respect. He hadn’t yet given Mike any indication of what sort of work he would be performing, which might have been more concerning if Mike wasn’t so comfortable in his current situation.

Despite the rules, and the disdain he felt for his “benefactor,” Mike had never lived so well. The daily meals delivered to the door were healthy and delicious. When Mike wasn’t being manhandled by Brice, or tortured by Greta, he was free to read, to watch television and explore Netflix, to lounge in bed, and to beat off whenever he felt like it (which wasn’t all that often), while staring drowsily up at the odd-looking light on the ceiling, imagining it was a huge, heavy-lidded eye, gazing back down at him. Sometimes he turned it off, because it shone so brightly down on him, almost like a spotlight.

After Harvey had taken away his pain pills that first time, he had doled them out on a regular schedule. A month after his release from the hospital, the prescription ran out, and Mike didn’t ask for a refill. He was confident he could get by without them. He resented Harvey’s control, but he could hardly deny that he felt great, perhaps even better and healthier than he had before the accident. Thanks to Greta’s ab work, and the insane amount of walking lunges she had him doing, he was growing toned and fit, and moving towards the sort of physique he’d once coveted.

Still, despite all the perks, the situation was not ideal. For one thing, Mike was bored out of his skull. He hadn’t seen the outside of Harvey’s condo for three months, and hadn’t spoken to anyone besides Harvey, and Brice, and Greta, except for the few times Ray had driven him to a doctor’s appointment to have his progress assessed and his cast removed.

Once the pills were out of his system, some of his mental numbness wore off. He was forced to examine his feelings, and quickly became aware of a low-level, simmering resentment, which he carried with him at all times, even when he was distracted by video games, or movies, or the stretch and burn of too many sit-ups or bicep curls.

One evening, without any real warning, things came to a head. He was arguing with Harvey once again about the main point of contention between them: Harvey’s refusal to allow Mike a key to his place, and his insistence that he not leave the condo, except for his daily trips with Greta down to the gym on the first floor. Suddenly, the resentment bubbled over, and Mike found himself shouting his frustration.

“God damn it, Harvey. You can’t be serious. I’m not a fucking child.”

“No,” repeated Harvey, flat and uncompromising.

“Am I a prisoner, then?”

That prompted the cold smile Mike had come to know so well. “No prisoner has ever been treated as well as you. On the contrary, you’ve been pampered, coddled …”

“A cage is still a cage, no matter how comfortable.” Mike paused, staring intently at Harvey. “What are your plans for me? I mean, you’ve made it crystal clear that I’m supposed to be paying you back, but every day I only incur more debt.” The next question had been gnawing at him for a while now, but he’d delayed asking it, for fear of appearing stupid or naïve. Now, he screwed up his courage. “Is it sex that you’re after? For you, or …”

Harvey barked out a laugh, but Mike was undeterred.

“Are you planning on trafficking me?”

Instead of another dismissive laugh, Harvey stared back at him, and then raised one hand and waggled it back and forth.

A disbelieving gasp escaped Mike. “Are you shitting me right now?” He surged to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“To my room. I may not have much of my own, but I’m packing it and getting the hell out of here.”

Harvey caught up to him in three strides and grabbed his arm, hauling him around to face him. “Wait,” he said, but that was all.

Mike raised both eyebrows, trying for a defiant look, while his brain was screaming a panicked litany of, _holy fuck, holy shit, holy fucking shit._

Harvey chewed on his lower lip, eyeing Mike up and down, seeming to consider his next move. “Come with me,” he finally ordered. “I want to show you something.”

Keeping hold of Mike, he dragged him toward the master bedroom. He was stronger than Mike had realized.

“Hold up. I never agreed to … _that._ ”

“If I’d wanted _that,_ ” Harvey sneered. “I’d have had it already.”

“Delusional much?”

“Just be quiet. Your virginity is not in any danger from me.”

“I’m not – God, you’re such an asshole.”

Mike had never been inside Harvey’s bedroom before. He’d not been forbidden entrance, but the door had remained shut, and he’d left it that way, while imagining all sorts of Bluebeard-style secrets hidden inside. The reality was less bloody, mutilated corpses, and more wealthy lawyer chic, done in neutral colors, with black and white photographs on the walls, a huge, walk-in closet, and a perfectly-made, king size bed which had Mike swallowing nervously, despite Harvey’s assurances.

Instead of steering Mike to the bed, Harvey pointed at an armchair, one of two angled together in a corner of the room. “Sit.”

Still fuming, Mike sat, while Harvey pulled a laptop down from the top shelf of the closet. He knew what Harvey’s work laptop looked like, and this wasn’t it. For one thing, it was larger, and looked significantly more powerful and expensive. Harvey plugged it in, opened it, and set it on Mike’s lap. Leaning over him, he logged in, and clicked on a video file.

Immediately, the screen was filled with a view of a bedroom – neither one in Harvey’s condo, Mike noted. After a moment, he recognized it as a dorm room. On the narrow bed lay an attractive young woman with dark hair, wearing a Harvard t-shirt and lacy pink panties, lounging against a mound of pillows and reading a book. Squinting at the screen, Mike made out the title of the book: “Constitutional Law.”

“Okay,” said Mike, shooting a glance at Harvey, who stood behind him with his arms crossed, his gaze on the screen. “I’m a little weirded out right now.”

“Keep watching.”

Mike sighed, wondering where this was all going. For perhaps five minutes, the young woman read her textbook, and occasionally highlighted passages in it. As Mike was on the verge of asking once more what the point of all this was, the woman slammed her book shut, tossed it on the floor, and raised her arms over her head in an exaggerated stretch, causing her t-shirt to ride up and expose her belly.

She trailed her fingers over the soft skin, back and forth, her face going dreamy. That was not the face of somebody contemplating the subtleties of constitutional law, Mike judged, more confused than ever. Then she lifted one side of her t-shirt, exposing a small, perfect breast, and rubbing the nipple with her thumb. Mike shifted involuntarily in his chair. Another quick glance at Harvey revealed him watching Mike closely, while ignoring the show on the screen.

“You dragged me in here to watch porn?” asked Mike, mouth going dry.

“Shut up and keep watching.”

Mike wasn’t sure he could have stopped watching it he’d wanted to, which he didn’t.

After cupping both breasts, displaying them to the camera and arching her back seductively, the woman peeled the shirt off over her head and dropped it on the floor. She rose to her knees, eyes shut, and continued to play with her breasts and nipples, biting her plump lower lip in between breathy moans. She plunged one hand into her panties and tipped her head back with a soft little, “Aaahhh.”

“Pull your panties down,” murmured a voice from offscreen, “and show your pussy to the camera.”

With a shock, Mike recognized the voice as Harvey’s. Already excited by the show she was putting on, the realization that there was someone else in the room – and that it was Harvey – ratcheted up his arousal, and he went instantly hard inside his sweatpants.

Onscreen, the woman was following Harvey’s instructions, pulling her panties down so that they were stretched between her thighs, showing off her smooth, hairless pussy as her fingers played with her wet folds, stroking, flicking her clit, plunging in and out as her hips bucked wildly.

“One thousand hits and climbing,” said Harvey’s disembodied voice. “Make yourself come for your fans, Scottie. They’re all watching you, with one hand on the mouse, and the other on – ”

Mike jumped as Harvey reached over his shoulder and paused the video.

“That was …” Mike had no idea how to complete the sentence. The video had been erotic, and dirty, and some of the most compelling online porn he’d ever watched.

“She was good, wasn’t she?” Harvey closed the lid and lifted the computer from Mike’s lap. He didn’t comment on the obvious bulge in Mike’s pants.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “But what … why …?”

“She put herself through law school with that webcam. It was my idea, and my equipment, so I took my cut. I didn’t need it, since I had a full ride, courtesy of my boss, but the extra cash made my final year at Harvard more enjoyable. And it was hot as hell. We fucked like crazy after each one of her online performances.”

“Did you ever …?”

“Me? No. I never showed my face online. My future career depended on my anonymity.”

“And what about … Scottie?”

Harvey shrugged, his expression as cold as Mike had ever seen it. “She made her choices, and her career hasn’t suffered. It doesn’t hurt that she spends most of her time in London these days.”

“Huh.” Mike fell silent as he considered everything he had just learned. It didn’t take any complicated math to add up all the clues and come to the realization that this was how Harvey intended for him to pay back the debt.

Sitting in the chair next to Mike’s, Harvey crossed his legs, and waited, an expectant look on his face.

Mike’s stomach clenched as he imagined touching himself with a thousand or more anonymous viewers watching. At the same time, he couldn’t deny the hot curl of excitement that shot through him at the notion.

He shook his head, rejecting the plan.

“I can’t. The thought of publicly doing … _that_. In front of a camera? Nah. I don’t think I have it in me.”

Harvey smiled wickedly. “Are you so sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Then maybe it would surprise you to know that you already have.”

Mike’s mouth gaped stupidly as Harvey opened the laptop once more, clicked on another file, and turned it to face him.

There he was. Mike. In Harvey’s spare bedroom. Lying on the bed in nothing but his briefs, appearing bored as he rubbed himself idly through the soft cotton. After a minute or two, he shucked off his underwear, and began masturbating energetically, eyes shut, and mouth hanging slackly open.

The camera, he realized dimly, must be hidden behind the photograph of the Chrysler Building.

In the video, he lay all the way back, bending his knees and thrusting a finger into his hole. The perspective shifted abruptly, and now he was being recorded from above.

“I knew there was something weird about that light fixture,” he muttered numbly. “The video is really … clear.” Not like the Scottie video, which had been a bit grainy and out of focus. “You have better equipment now, I’m guessing.”

“The privileges of wealth.” Harvey shut the lid.

Mike continued to stare straight ahead, still seeing himself writhing on the bed, unguardedly grunting out his pleasure. “You’re a bastard,” he said conversationally.

“So I’ve been told.”

As his initial numbness wore off, anger begin building inside of Mike. “Exactly how long have you been recording me?”

“Since you got here. Every minute you were in the bedroom? Streamed live. I’ve got the shower in your bathroom wired, too. Not the toilet. It’s not that sort of a livestream.”

“Well. Gosh. Aren’t you considerate?” Mike looked around Harvey’s bedroom. “What about in here? I suppose your rule still stands, of not revealing your face on camera?”

“Of course.”

“Jesus.” Mike shook his head, lips pinched together. “How many laws have you broken, so far?” He shook his head some more. “You goddamn, manipulative, conniving, lying piece of shit.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

“Right. You’re one of those, ‘an omission is different than a lie’ sort of guys, aren’t you?” Something occurred to him. “How much have you made off violating my privacy so far? Ballpark.”

“Not a lot. You’re not exactly a star attraction yet. Honestly? The stream isn’t exactly compelling stuff. I assumed you’d be beating off a lot more often than you do. So little libido for one so young.”

“I’ve been convalescing, asshole.”

“Frankly, you could use some coaching.”

“Oh. I see. You’re going to coach me on beating off for a bunch of internet perverts. Do I have that right?” _Fuck my life._

“I prefer to think of them as subscribers. And yes, I could teach you a lot about angles, lighting, the art of the tease, everything you need to know to drive up your hits. If you follow my advice, who knows? You could have your debt paid off in six months.”

“I thought – ” Frustrated, Mike pounded a fist on the arm of the chair. “I thought I’d be doing legal work for you.”

“There’s nothing illegal about this.”

“No. You know what I mean. Work in the legal field. In your field. At your law firm.”

“You?” Harvey raised an eyebrow and let out a sharp laugh. “A college dropout and failed bike messenger? You can’t be serious.”

“I didn’t – You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Mike felt like weeping, or throwing himself at Harvey and beating his face to a bloody pulp, or storming out into the uncaring city, homeless and penniless. Any of those actions might make him feel better in the moment, but what about the long term? His life pre-accident may not have been the best, but now he felt as if he teetered on a precipice. On one side lay utter financial calamity, and on the other lay … what? Debasement. Humiliation. Exposure to untold numbers of anonymous voyeurs.

And yet ….

There would be pleasure, too, no use denying it. He could already feel a furtive, reckless sort of excitement as he imagined what it would feel like to be the focus of all that filthy scrutiny.

So, what was that choice, again? Poverty and homelessness, versus internet porn stardom?

Once again, if felt as if Harvey had left him with no choice at all.

Mike frowned so hard his face hurt.

Surprisingly, Harvey’s expression gentled. “I see you have some reservations. I can give you the night to think about it.”

“What happens if I say no?”

“Review your contract.”

“Right … Crushing debt. Ruination. Sleeping on the street. I don’t need to read the damn contract.”

“And so?”

“And so, I’ll take the night and think about it.”

“If you say yes, I think you’d find a certain enjoyment in it. Plus, I’d hate to see you end up out on the street. I’ve sort of gotten used to having you around.”

“You made your case,” Mike snapped. “I say I’d think it over.”

“Fair enough. We’ll talk when I get home from work tomorrow.”

 

******

 

“I guess my answer is yes. I’ll do it. For the record, though, you’re still a bastard, and I hate your fucking guts.”

“Sounds about right.” Harvey stood up and set his laptop on the bed. He gave Mike a challenging look, one eyebrow raised. “What do you say? Are you ready to get started?”

Mike stood, to bring himself back to Harvey’s level, and tipped his chin up, in what was probably a useless attempt to disguise how nervous he felt. He’d been agonizing all night about what he should do, in between fantasizing about strangers watching him. “Sure. Why not? No time like the present.” Somehow, he managed to sound more confident than he felt.

Harvey gave a nod of what might have been approval, but the spark of suspicion in his eyes, along with his crooked smile, telegraphed his skepticism about Mike’s sincerity. Instead of immediately leading the way back to Mike’s bedroom, he stayed where he was.

“My first piece of advice is to pretend, as much as you’re able, that the cameras aren’t there. Behave as naturally as possible, but don’t be boring.” He smirked at Mike. “And touch yourself as often as you can. I’ve bought you some toys, which you can introduce into the livestream at various intervals. Keep your audience interested. Show your vulnerabilities. Don’t try to act like a porn star. If the viewers wanted that, there are plenty other websites they can click on. What they’re looking for is a peek through the window, to catch you out unawares.”

“But … with Scottie, you were clearly there in the room, egging her on.”

“I’ve learned a thing or two since then.”

This made Mike curious. “How many others have there been? How many times have you done this?”

“Over the years? Perhaps half a dozen. I’ve always been particular about who I put in front of the cameras.”

Mike ordered himself not to feel pride that he’d been selected, because that was just too weird. “Were they all willing accomplices? Or were they coerced, like me?”

A complex expression drifted across Harvey’s features. “You are unique in every way.”

Whatever that meant.

Mike shook his head impatiently, deciding to let it go for now. “How are you going to coach me, if you’re not in the room?”

Harvey smiled, and produced a small item from his pocket. When he handed it to Mike, he saw that it was an earpiece. Mike shook his head, mouth twisting in a reluctant grin. “How very _Mission Impossible_ of you.”

“Put it in.”

Mike sighed, and poked the earpiece into place. “Now what?”

“Now you go back into your room, and I’ll communicate to you from in here. Oh, and take this, too.” The next item he handed to Mike looked like a compact remote control. “This turns off the cameras, whenever you feel like you need a break. If the light is green, the cameras are on, and your stream is live. Red means you can relax. See? It’s red right now. You have control. Just remember, no stream means no revenue. If your viewers find they can count on you being available to them most of the time, they’ll be more likely to stay tuned, and to return for more.”

Mike refused to feel grateful for this tiny bit of control Harvey had placed in his hand. “How are people even finding the feed?”

“I’ve posted the link on a few sites that cater to this sort of thing. You let me worry about the marketing aspect. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing, and once I start promoting you, you’ll have plenty of subscribers.”

“Don’t worry. Right.”

Feeling ill, but determined, Mike returned to his room.

 

******

 

“It helps if you have a persona people can relate to.”

“Like a student.”

“Sure, but that has been done to death. How about … do you like video games?”

“I guess. I’m no fanatic.”

“What about music? You play any instruments?”

“A little guitar. Very little.”

“Hmm. What are your hobbies?”

“I like to read. Watch movies. Smoke pot.”

“No. I’m not streaming you involved in any illegal acts.”

“Well … that’s the extent of my life these days. Or was. Wait, how about if I pretend to be an attorney?”

“Funny.”

Mike stared at the Chrysler Building, trying to project his sincerity directly into the camera, and then remembered that it wasn’t turned on, and Harvey couldn’t see him. “I’m serious. I could wear a suit. Work on briefs. Make rude, aggressive phone calls to fake clients.”

“Who would ever believe you as an attorney? You’re too young-looking, for one thing.”

“Then … I’m new at it. I’m always screwing up, and getting things wrong, and … and my boss has to punish me for it, but I sort of like it, and sometimes I mess up on purpose.” He pressed his lips together, appalled at what he had just suggested, and what it had revealed about him.

Harvey remained quiet for nearly a whole minute. When his voice came through Mike’s earpiece again, it was soft, but with a rough edge.  “Maybe. It might work.”

“You’d, uh, you’d go on camera?”

“Me? Not a chance. I could hire someone …”

“No fucking way!”

Harvey’s laugh vibrated in his ear.

Mike flushed, glad that Harvey couldn’t see him at the moment. “I couldn’t … no. I couldn’t agree to that. That’s too much.”

“But you’d agree to it if it was me in there paddling your naughty behind?”

“What? I never said that. I just meant like, long hours, and verbal reprimands. I’m not asking for a … a co-star.”

“Fine. We’ll put a pin in that to review later if we need to juice things up. For now, let’s get you used to following my direction. Let’s go live with this, all right?”

 _Live_? Mike’s nerves jumped unpleasantly, but he reminded himself that he’d already been viewed online at his most vulnerable and intimate, even if he hadn’t been aware of it. Tightening his jaw, he pressed the button on the remote, watching the light change from red to green.

“There you are,” purred Harvey. “Don’t look so worried. You’re going to do great.”

Mike wasn’t so sure, but he stared at the Chrysler Building photo and nodded tersely to show Harvey that he was ready.

“Lie down on the bed, on your back. Get comfortable.”

Mike did as he’d been told. He reached for the hem of his t-shirt, but the voice in his ear stopped him.

“Wait. You want to tease the viewer a little, to build up the anticipation and arousal. Remember the video of Scottie? Try doing what she did. Copy her if you want to.”

“I don’t have a book in here.”

“Don’t talk to me. You’re supposed to be alone, in your natural element.”

Mike started to nod his understanding, but stopped himself. Trying to get himself into the spirit of the exercise, he let out a sigh and flopped down on the bed, on his back.

“Good,” whispered Harvey. “I’m liking the moody expression. Pout a little more. Try to look restless.”

Mike shifted his gaze to the ceiling, and the wall, thrusting out his lip.

“My god. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t asked Greta to bulk you up. You look like a bad little boy, sent to his room to think about what he’s done.”

Mike resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Hike up your shirt a little.  Good. Let your hand trail across your belly. Just the fingertips. Nice.”

What it Mike’s imagination, or had Harvey’s breathing quickened?

“You’re getting a couple dozen hits, but none are sticking around for long. Let’s get them interested in what’s going on. Lift your shirt higher, and play with your nipples. That’s it. Pinch them good and hard. Close your eyes. Let your mouth fall open and arch your back. Not too much yet. Keep it subtle. Why so quiet? Show them just how good it feels.”

Mike whined, not play-acting at all. With his eyes closed, and Harvey’s voice in his ear, he could almost forget what he was doing. Strangers were watching him – a dozen or more – but it was Harvey’s regard that fueled his breathy moans and had him growing hard inside his pants.

“That’s good, Mike. Take off the shirt. Hello. Look at you, so needy and young. Pull your sweats down. No, not all the way off. No underwear is fine, but next time you’ll wear one of the pairs I bought for you. Okay, touch yourself. Lightly. That’s it. Trail your fingers up and down that pretty, hard cock of yours. Mmm. You look good enough to eat. That feels nice, doesn’t it? Imagine there’s someone else touching you. You wish he was here with you, but he’s your boss, and he doesn’t know how you feel. He thinks you’re an incompetent screw-up, but you’d do almost anything to prove him wrong.”

Mike circled his cock with his palm, but paused, waiting for Harvey to give him permission to move, not even questioning why.

“You’re going to come for the cameras,” murmured Harvey, “but not yet. You’re going to have to work for it.”

Mike’s head thunked back against the pillows.

“Look in the nightstand drawer.”

Mike rolled to his side and reached for the drawer, pulling it open. Inside, he found a thick blue dildo, a vibrator, and container of lube. Involuntarily, his surprised gaze shifted to the camera, and then back to the drawer. When had Harvey put those in there?

“Take out the lube, and the vibe. Now, take your pants the rest of the way off. Bend your knees and plant your feet on the bed.”

If Mike hadn’t been forbidden to speak, he might have objected, “I’ve got this.” Or maybe not. Even though Harvey had not touched him, his gaze, removed as it was in the other room, and his voice in Mike’s ear, felt like a filthy caress, teasing him and urging him on.

“Use plenty of lube. That’s good. No, not your fingers. Push the tip of the vibe into that tight hole of yours. I’m zooming in on you, so everyone can see. A little more. Move it in and out. Fuck yourself with it, but just a bit for now. All right, push it further in.  Further. Yeah, it hurts, but you can take it. Don’t stop. Take it, you little slut.”

Mike bucked up as heat washed through him, and a desperate sounding “aaahhh” escaped him.

“Turn on the vibe.”

“Shit,” whispered Mike as the vibrations shook through him.

“Manipulate it. Move it around, until it’s pressing in just the right spot.”

Mike knew his body well enough that he unerringly zeroed in on his prostate.

“God!” he gasped.

“Turn it to high. You’re really feeling that, aren’t you? Now, put your hands behind your knees and lift them up. Let us see. Do it.”

Biting back a sob, Mike lifted his knees. He’d never felt so exposed in his life. Shame filled him, but it only stoked his arousal. He wanted to touch himself, to stroke furiously until he came, but Harvey had other ideas.

“Not yet Mike. I’m looking at my watch. We’re going to let that vibe run on high for two full minutes. The hits are climbing, and nobody is logging off. Maintain your position, and show them how needy you are. They’re loving it. They see you, and they want to fuck you. Nearly a hundred viewers, in front of a hundred computers, are touching themselves, stroking and thrusting, and some are coming already, but some are waiting, holding off, waiting for you.”

Sweat trickled down Mike’s temples and dampened his chest. A sound that was half-whine and half-squeak forced its way out of his throat. _Please, God. Please, Harvey. Let me come. I need …._

He gasped for breath, head tilted, back arched, all but weeping with need.

“So good.” The words were breathed in his ear, bit off at the end, as if Harvey was in some sort of distress.

 _Fuck. He was getting off to watching Mike. Was he touching himself, too?_ It was all too much. Mike wanted to follow Harvey’s instructions, and already craved his praise, needed to hear how good he was, but he needed to come. He was so close.

Thankfully, before Mike broke, Harvey’s strained voice came through his earpiece, “Two minutes. Get yourself off. Now.”

Mike dropped his feet back to the mattress and grabbed for his cock, stroking wildly. A buzzing seemed to build inside his skull. His spine melted, and rough shouts echoed inside his head, and some of them belonged to him, but some of them were Harvey’s, who was right there with him in the other room, coming every bit as violently as Mike was, making his ear throb as he cried out his pleasure.

 

******

 

“Turn off the camera.”

Mike had been lying laxly on the bed, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. Thinking that Harvey intended to critique his performance, he reached for the remote and pushed the button, turning the light from green to red, and then dragged the comforter over his lower half.

Through half-slitted eyes, he saw Harvey appear in the doorway, leaning against it with his hands in his pockets.

“Take that thing out of your ear.”

Mike set the earpiece on the night stand. “Well? Did we make any money?” An hour ago, it would have felt surreal to be asking the question. Now, he was frankly curious. Had his efforts brought him any closer to earning his freedom?

“A few hundred bucks. Not a bad start. The comments were mostly positive. You can read them later, if you want.”

Mike had no intention of doing that. “Mostly positive?”

“A few people thought you came too soon. One viewer, who goes by the name ‘thunderman69’ wanted to see you fuck yourself with something larger.”

Mike’s sensitive hole twitched at the suggestion. “Well. Everyone’s a critic.”

“Not everyone.” Harvey stepped into the room, eyes darkening as he stared down at Mike.

“What?” Mike shifted nervously.

“I, for one, approve. You were … compelling.”

“Thanks?”

“I’d like you to consider something, for the future. It’s entirely up to you, but one day soon, after you’re done performing for the cameras, I’d like to fuck you. No, don’t answer. Just think about it. Decide if that is something you might want. When you’re ready, just say the word.” His voice went husky as he continued to stare hungrily at Mike. “I promise, you won’t regret it.”

Mike had no idea how to respond. For once, Harvey was giving him a choice, but he didn’t know which one he would make. He swallowed noisily, saying nothing.

Harvey pushed away from the doorway. “Get yourself cleaned up. Turn the cameras back on, and get in the shower. Take your time, and give yourself a thorough wash. Your new fans will love it.”

Mike wanted to ask if Harvey would be watching too, but judging by the look in his eyes, he already knew the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

As the weeks passed, Mike gradually fell into a routine of sorts. As soon as he woke up, he turned on the cameras. A slow warm-up to the day commenced, with copious touching of his erogenous zones, followed by a sleepy masturbation session. After that, he climbed into the shower for more self-touch. Then he spent a few hours simply living his life in front of the cameras: drinking coffee, fixing breakfast, reading, playing games on his phone, dozing. His subscribers seemed to eat that stuff up, which never ceased to amaze him.

A couple of hours after lunch, he began a build-up to the main event of the evening, which involved toys, extended orgasm denial, lots of sub-verbal vocalization, followed inevitably by a showy explosion and post-orgasm lazy naked time. Harvey remained at work for most of the day, although Mike often imagined him in the office, watching on his computer, and furtively touching himself under his desk.

More often than not, Harvey made it home in time for the end of the evening session.

Knowing Harvey was there, right next door, somehow made the experience more intense. Mike would slip the earpiece in, and listen to Harvey’s directions, and lewd comments, and the sounds of him pleasuring himself while Mike worked himself over for the cameras.

Afterwards, following another porntastic shower, Mike turned off the cameras for a few hours. He and Harvey ate dinner together, while Harvey brought him up to date on the number of new subscribers the livestream had attracted, the amount of money they had made so far, and some of the more salacious or amusing comments posted about his performance. It felt weirdly domestic. Sure, Mike still hated Harvey’s guts, but he had to admit he wasn’t terrible company.

Harvey hadn’t brought up his previously stated desire to fuck Mike. Not yet. Mike told himself he wasn’t disappointed by that. In some ways, it felt as if they had already done it. Bringing himself off with Harvey’s voice in his ear had turned out to feel intensely intimate.

Harvey had made it clear that he would wait for Mike to ask for it. At first, he rejected the idea completely. Harvey was an evil bastard, and Mike wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of … satisfying him. Even so, as time passed, the notion gradually began to take hold in his brain, and to gain appeal. Mike spent such a large part of his days teasing himself, and being a tease for the cameras, that he began to crave something besides his own hand to bring him off.

Added to that, Harvey was the only person he had contact with on a daily basis. Brice had cut their PT sessions to once a week, and had mentioned on his last visit that Mike wouldn’t need him much longer.

Greta no longer visited him at all. When Harvey had discerned from the livestream comments that the majority of viewers desired a “twinkier” Mike, he’d cancelled her standing appointments, and instructed Mike to spend his gym time on cardio, and maybe a little light weight work, just to stay toned. Mike had liked his bulkier muscles, and might have complained, but he knew that happier clients meant more views, which translated to more money. The faster he paid off the debt, the sooner he’d be out of here.

There came a day when he realized that every time he touched himself, he was thinking about Harvey. This discovery made him angry, and more than a little ashamed. He fought his feelings for a week or so, before giving in and admitting to himself that, despite the inevitable hit his self-esteem would incur, he wanted to take Harvey up on his offer. Evil bastard or not, he was Mike’s only option at the moment, and something told him he would not be a disappointment in bed … or wherever.

If Harvey still wanted it, though, it was going be on Mike’s terms.

The next evening, when he heard Harvey’s key in the front door lock, Mike switched off the cameras and padded barefoot and bare-chested to greet him in the living room. Mike’s jeans were unfastened, and hung low on his hips, exposing his hard cock, which he’d already been teasing for close to an hour. Harvey had seen it all before, plenty of times, and Mike didn’t even give his appearance a second thought.

Caught in the act of sorting through his mail, Harvey glanced up in surprise. “Mike?” He gaze dropped to Mike’s cock, and he licked his lips. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He walked closer to Harvey, almost amused at the way his eyes never left Mike’s bobbing erection. “I’ve just decided that I want to take you up on your offer. Don’t read anything into it. My hand just needs a break. So … how would this work?”

Harvey placed his mail carefully on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to assume that you’re not referring to simple mechanics. That aside, I’d think it was fairly obvious. You get off for the cameras. Once you’re finished, and they’re switched off, I’ll join you.”

Mike had figured this is what Harvey would propose, but he had other ideas. “No. You’re not going to fuck me after I’ve already come.”

Harvey’s eyes darkened, and he gave Mike a look of pure incredulity. “You know my rule about not appearing on camera. And your viewers aren’t going to appreciate being left hanging and missing out on your orgasm. You’ve turned into quite the showman.”

“Yeah, whatever. I haven’t forgotten about your rule. But I have a workaround. The cameras go dark long enough for you to climb on top of me. They come back on to a view of you from behind, going to town on me.” He resolutely ignored the way his cheeks heated as he starkly diagrammed his game plan.

Harvey didn’t say anything, but Mike could tell that he was giving the idea some thought.

“No one is going to recognize you. Unless you have some unique tattoo or scars on your back?”

“I do not.”

“Then can we try it this one time?” Mike hadn’t meant to sound so desperate. Evidently, he wanted this more than he’d admitted to himself. “Let’s see what this does to the hit count, and evaluate the comments.” Harvey didn’t agree immediately, so Mike continued, “And let’s see how much more we take in. If those pervs out in computer land get off so much to my solitary fapping, think how much more excited they’ll be at the addition of some faceless stranger having his way with me.”

Finally, Harvey gave a slow nod. “Okay. Agreed. Just know that if my face appears on camera, even for a second, your debt doubles.”

Mike’s stomach clenched at the threat, and he briefly reconsidered his offer. “That’s not fair. What if you make a mistake, and show yourself?”

“That’s not going to happen.  I have even more to lose than you. Do you agree to my terms?”

Swallowing with difficulty, Mike nodded, even as he wondered what the hell he was getting himself into.

“Good.” Taking immediate advantage of this new permission, Harvey wrapped his hand around Mike’s cock and squeezed. “One other thing, if you think your acting skills are up to it, try not to look happy when I’m in there.”

Mike wanted to slap Harvey’s hand away, but it felt too good to have someone else touching him for once. He did manage a sour grimace. “Happy? I’m not even close to happy about any of this. You’d simply be meeting a need, as I’m sure I’ll be doing for you.”

With a grim smile, Harvey let Mike go. “My goodness, such a sweet talker. Are you stretched and lubed?”

“Such a sweet talker,” Mike parroted mockingly. “And yes. I’m ready to go whenever you are. Let’s get naked.” He hadn’t meant to sound so eager, but knew that if they didn’t hurry up, he was in danger of changing his mind.

Harvey headed for his own bedroom first. It didn’t take long for him to remove his clothes. Mike stood in the doorway watching, and had to grudgingly admit that his jailer/pimp had an exceedingly nice body. He reached for the waistband of his own jeans, but Harvey stopped him.

“Leave those on for now. I have an idea.” He held out his arm, indicating that Mike should precede him back to his bedroom. Once inside, Harvey took possession of the remote. “Are you up for a little acting?”

What did Harvey think he was doing all day? Mike nodded, willing to go along with just about anything Harvey suggested. He’d left “gives a shit” in his rearview mirror months ago.

“Lie on the bed, and pick up where you were before I got home.” Harvey clicked the cameras on.

Mike shrugged, and did as he’d been instructed. Pants open, he stroked himself leisurely, occasionally letting out a moan of pleasure. He might have gotten a touch more theatrical than usual, owing to his live audience of one.

“Look up,” Harvey murmured into Mike’s earpiece, “and look surprised. If you can manage it, look scared.”

Mike realized where Harvey was going with this, and while part of him felt revulsion, that part was drowned out by his growing excitement. He paused with his hand on his cock, and looked toward the doorway, where Harvey stood. Widening his eyes, he breathed, “What the hell … How the fuck did you get in here?”

Harvey pitched his voice louder, so the microphones would pick it up. “Maybe worry less about how, and more about why, you dirty little whore.”

Mike had to clamp his lips together over the startled laughter that threatened to destroy the mood Harvey was trying to create. _Laying it on a bit thick?_ He didn’t say the words out loud. His fans should have their disbelief suspended as long as possible, if that’s what it took to keep them tuned in. Going along with Harvey’s playacting, he leaned up on his elbows and said, “I want you to leave. Now.”

A sneering laugh from Harvey. “That’s not what I’m seeing.”

Mike fondled his cock. “Yeah? What are you seeing?”

“A dirty little fuck boy who needs someone to give it to him long, and hard.”

Mike nearly choked. If it hadn’t been for their audience of thousands, he might have called Harvey on his cheesy porn patter. Audience or not, ridiculous as Harvey sounded, it was totally getting him hot. He swallowed thickly and did his best to look alarmed.

Harvey put a finger to his lips and clicked the remote once, shutting off the cameras. “Don’t move.” He stepped closer, keeping his back to the camera hidden behind the picture of the Chrysler Building. As long as he didn’t turn his head, or look straight up at the ceiling camera, his anonymity would be preserved. Placing one knee on the bed, he clicked the remote again, and tossed it onto the nightstand, right next to the thick dildo Mike had been planning to use on himself tonight. He grabbed the bottom of Mike’s jeans, and yanked hard.

“The fuck?” yelped a startled Mike, only partly acting.

Harvey hauled the jeans down and off, and tossed them onto the floor, forcing Mike flat on his back as he did so. Moving up the bed to straddle Mike’s hips, he growled, “Turn over.”

Mike gaped at him. When he didn’t move fast enough, Harvey batted his head with his open palm, not so hard that it hurt, but the strike was unexpected enough that Mike let out a shocked gasp. “You fucking asshole.”

“Turn. Over.” Low and menacing. He put a hand on Mike’s throat, the message clear.

Turned on, and just the tiniest bit scared, Mike rolled onto his stomach. Harvey grabbed him around the hips and forced him onto his knees.

“Fucking tease. What were you thinking, putting yourself on display for anyone to see?”

_I was thinking I want to pay off my debt and get out of this insane asylum._ “Wh-what do you want from me?”

“Hm.” Harvey reached for the dildo. “Let’s start with this.” With no further warning, he forced it in, fast and deep.

Mike groaned. “Holy shit, dude. Warn a guy?”

“Shut up.” Harvey moved the dildo in and out, fucking Mike roughly. “Is that what you like? You want more of that?”

_Yes, please._ Mike grunted and rested his forehead on his crossed arms.

“Or maybe you’d rather have the real thing?”

_Double yes. Double please._ “Just do it, you bastard. If you think you’re man enough.”

He must have caught Harvey by surprise with that last remark, because he could have sworn he felt a tremor of suppressed laughter shake him. He didn’t break character, though. “By the time I’m done with you, I’ll have you begging for more.”

Mike was perfectly fine with begging. For now, he bit off a fake sob. “J-just don’t hurt me, okay?” he whispered unsteadily, while his mind was shouting, _wreck me, Daddy!_

The dildo came out, leaving Mike feeling empty, but not for long. Seconds later, Harvey’s cock pushed into him, stretching him and filling him so amazingly that he gasped, and his eyes crossed. “Fuck,” he breathed, “you’re huge.”

“And you’re surprisingly tight for such a dirty little slut.” Harvey knelt up, holding Mike’s hips, and thrusting into him, again and again, finding his rhythm. 

“God,” grunted Mike in a strangled voice. _So good. So fucking good._ It was next to impossible to sound pained, and scared, and angry, when Harvey was nailing him with such exquisite finesse, but he gave it his best effort. “No,” he groaned, “please, no,” when what he really meant was, _yes, please, more of that._

It seemed to him that Harvey knew exactly what he wanted and needed. He rode him hard, tweaked his nipples until they throbbed, and bit down on his neck, sucking and gnawing and driving Mike out of his mind.

“Let’s hear it,” murmured Harvey.

“Hear … uh, God … hear what?”

“Let me hear you beg for it, slut.”

Mike’s sob this time was real, as was the raw desperation in his voice. “Please. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. More of that. More of everything.”

Mike had just enough time to wonder how this was playing on the cameras, and if they were recording anything more than Harvey’s back and part of Mike’s head. Then Harvey reached down to stroke his cock, and he became incapable of further thought or speech. He didn’t give a damn about the cameras, or his viewers, or how completely fucked up the whole setup was. The frantic race toward orgasm pushed everything else away.

When it ripped through him moments later, he tipped his head back and gave a shout.

Harvey kept pumping into him, cursing and growling, calling Mike every dirty, insulting name in his extensive repertoire. It went on, and on. Finally, when Mike was utterly exhausted, groaning with discomfort, and ready to plead for him to end to it, Harvey froze and released into him, arms viselike around his middle, shuddering and groaning out his pleasure. Wet warmth filled Mike, and trickled down his thighs. He turned his head and stared at Harvey in shock.

“Are you fucking kidding me?, he whispered harshly. “No condom?”

Harvey’s eyes glittered with humor. He pulled out and pushed a finger inside of Mike’s sore hole. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” After wiping his wet finger down the length of Mike’s back, he reached for the remote and switched off the cameras.

Taking this as his signal, Mike rolled onto his back and sat up, shoving Harvey away. “That was fucked up, dude. You can’t just do something like that, without running it by me first.”

Harvey shook his head. “Dial down the drama, princess. I’m clean, and I happen to know that you are too.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“They ran a lot of tests on you in the hospital.”

“Why they hell would they run a test like that on an accident victim?”

Harvey only stared at him, a smug smile playing around his wide mouth.

“God. That is completely unethical.” Something occurred to Mike, making him faintly nauseous. He rolled to the side of the bed and got to his feet, backing away from Harvey. “Were you planning this all along? From the very beginning? Wait. Was that accident even an accident?”

“Of course it was. I simply saw an opportunity and went with it. Ray would never have hit you on purpose. _He_ has scruples.” Harvey sat up and leaned against the headboard, legs splayed open, gorgeous in his nudity.

“Unlike you?”

Harvey shrugged. “I get what I want in life. Scruples aren’t always compatible with that.”

“And what you wanted was me?” It sounded absurd, even to Mike’s ears. He wasn’t worthy of anyone’s obsession. “Why? I don’t get it. A guy like you could have anyone he wanted.”

Another shrug from Harvey. “I enjoy searching out unique pleasures.”

“Unique? Me?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You caught my eye well before the accident. I even entertained thoughts of fabricating a situation where I could get you alone, but it seemed all but impossible. And then …”

“And then your driver ran me down in the street.”

“What do you want me to say? I felt bad about what happened. The day the hospital phoned to tell me you’d finally woken up, my relief was immeasurable.”

“Huh. So, let’s get the timeline straight. After I woke up, did you start planning my ruination right away, or did you wait a few days?”

“Ruination? That’s some nice hyperbole. You’re Internet famous. You’re staying here rent free, all meals provided, with nothing expected of you except to pleasure yourself all day, every day. You’re already living a life most people only dream about. And now, you have me in your bed.”

“Wow. You’ve got some twisted ideas about ‘most’ people. I’d say most people want a job they don’t hate, a few friends, interests that make them happy.”

“Is that what you want?”

Mike nodded, ignoring the sudden prick of tears, which caught him off guard. “Right now, that sounds like heaven, but I think my expectations are even lower than most people’s. All I want is for this nightmare to be over. I want my life back, even as crappy as it was.”

For the first time since Mike had met him, he saw a crack in Harvey’s heartless demeanor. He frowned at Mike, eyes serious and seemingly filled with sympathy. It lasted maybe a second or two, to be replaced by his customary careless sneer.

“Nightmare?” He stood up, facing Mike, and pointed behind himself at the bed. “Those weren’t the yells of someone living out a nightmare. All that begging? Don’t embarrass yourself by pretending you weren’t one hundred percent into it.” He took half a step forward, leaving only scant inches between himself and Mike, and his voice dropped. “You’re already anticipating a repeat performance. For all your complaining and protests, you loved every second of it. Begging comes as naturally to you as breathing, doesn’t it? We’ve only scratched the surface of what you want – what you know you need.”

Harvey’s words fell on him like barbs, cutting, drawing blood. What hurt the most was the knowledge that everything he said was true. Mike stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the floor, feeling the heat rising off Harvey. He tested arguments in his head, but unlike Harvey, he was no seasoned debater. Besides, he’d teased out all the arguments already, in his own mind.

He could have walked out of here months ago, and screw the financial consequences. He hadn’t done that. He’d submitted to the situation, given his consent. He’d been the one to invite Harvey into his bed. Much as he might have wanted to lash out, weak arguments and all, he shied away from a confrontation which would bring all his own weakness and ugliness out into the open.

He sucked in a breath, and exhaled slowly. “What do you want for dinner?” he asked.

Harvey froze, seemingly arrested by Mike’s abrupt surrender. “It’s not all been bad, has it?” he asked, as if Mike had continued the fight.

Mike ignored the question. “How about I order us something from that sandwich place with the killer pastrami?”

Letting out an audible sigh, Harvey frowned, and then nodded tersely. “That’s fine. While we wait for dinner to get here, we can check out the comments on your latest performance.”

Mike gave him a sour smile. “Don’t you mean our performance?”

 

******

 

Harvey poured them each a scotch, and they sat at the kitchen counter with the laptop between them. Taking a sip, Harvey scrolled down the screen.

“Hm. Thunderman69 approves, as usual.”

“Of course he does. I'd say he was my number one fan, if that didn't sound too creepy.”

“He does suggest that I may have gone too easy on you.”

“Great. Notes from thunderman69. How did I get so lucky? And by the way, easy for him to say. He didn’t have your huge cock stuffed up his ass.”

Harvey tapped the down arrow, continuing to evaluate the feedback. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Mike sniffed once. “You would.”

“Huh.” Harvey leaned in a little as he studied another lengthy comment.

“What?” asked Mike disinterestedly.

“BDogg – ”

“BDogg? Where do they come up with these screen names?”

“He – I’m assuming it’s a he – says your skinny ass has never looked so fine, and …” Harvey frowned.

“And what?”

“And he goes on to threaten violence against me.”

Mike laughed a bit too loudly at that. “I think I like this guy. Did he leave a phone number?”

“It’s not funny. Fans can get weird without warning. Words on a screen can’t do you any harm, but under no circumstances should you ever make an attempt to meet any of these people in person.”

“Why? Because they might try to run me over with a car, and then traffic me on the Internet? That's funny, because ...”

Harvey’s face tightened, and Mike congratulated himself on successfully getting under his skin.

The argument might have escalated, but the intercom buzzed to announce that dinner had arrived. As Harvey went to the door to pay for it, Mike grabbed plates and napkins. He forgot all about thunderman69, and BDogg, being more interested in remedying the loud rumbling in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

During his long days alone (except for his growing audience on the other side of the cameras), Mike had ample time to berate himself for agreeing to Harvey's terms all those months ago. He should have walked the first day – or limped, since he could barely even stand up straight on his own at the time.

Okay, so maybe staying with Harvey in the beginning had been an unavoidable necessity, as had ignoring the way the manipulative bastard backed him into a corner with that contract. And, to be fair, he'd gained a few things out of the bargain, such as excellent physical therapy, plentiful meals, and a swanky roof over his head.

As soon as he found out about the cameras … that's when he should have walked, a feat which he could have actually managed by then. Why had he stuck around? Excellent question.

As occupations went, producing internet porn (or Porn Lite, as he preferred to think of it) was one of the less strenuous gigs he'd had. It certainly beat the hell out of being a bike messenger.

Still, there were aspects of degradation, humiliation, and exhibitionism, which likely would be deal breakers for most people.

Mike? It turned him on a little.

More than a little.

He supposed he might have gone his entire life not knowing this about himself. Perhaps it would have been better that way. If the accident had never happened, and Harvey hadn't already been nursing some weird obsession about him, he could have continued down the same path he'd been on. Which, in the interests of complete honesty, he had to admit had not been a great one.

Cheating, fraud, and the occasional foray into the wonderful world of drug dealing were not exactly a recipe for obtaining success. In his lowest moments, he could almost believe that it was inevitable that he would have ended up in his current situation, for the simple reason that he didn't deserve any better.

The next time Harvey stood naked in his bedroom doorway, clicked off the cameras, and raised an inquiring eyebrow, Mike gave him a resigned nod and beckoned him over. They didn't bother with a contrived plot this time. Harvey was just as careful as before to keep his face turned away from the cameras once he'd turned them back on, but he left Mike on his back, and looked him in the eyes while he rocked slowly into him, nibbling his neck and rolling his nipples between his fingers.

Mike found it disconcerting to meet Harvey's gaze, so dark and serious, while they fucked like lovers, and not the adversaries he had always figured them to be. Mike almost began to thaw toward him, and to believe Harvey actually had feelings for him of the more tender variety.

Then Harvey bit down on his earlobe, and whispered, "Call me Daddy."

Mike's hips stuttered, and he lost the rhythm. "What?"

"Say, 'fuck me, Daddy.' Go on. The viewers will love it."

Mike had no doubt that thunderman69 would approve, as he did nearly every act Mike performed for the cameras. BDogg, on the other hand, seemed to have nothing but complaints these days. Feeling as if his soul shriveled a little more, he did as Harvey had directed.

"Fuck me, Daddy," he moaned. "Feels so good. Fuck me harder."

Harvey's smile was almost feral as he did just that, fingers digging into Mike's hips, and likely leaving bruises that would last for days. Mike kept up a litany of "Daddy, Daddy," and "fuck me, Daddy," until Harvey jerked him off. It only took the briefest of touches, and he came so hard he thought he smelled ozone.

He could tell Harvey was close, but instead of coming inside Mike, he pulled out, stroked himself a few more times, and shot onto Mike's face and chest, watching Mike avidly as he did so. Then he dragged a finger through the cooling cum, and held it to Mike's mouth.

Mike didn't object when Harvey pressed the finger into his mouth. He closed his lips around him and sucked lazily, too fucked out to care what Harvey did to him. Harvey clicked the cameras off and rolled off Mike. They lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling, catching their breath.

"Want me to call the Thai place?" asked Mike after a time.

"I brought a couple of chef's salads home with me."

"Rabbit food. Great." He knew he sounded childishly disappointed, but he didn't care.

"And a pint of that pistachio ice cream you like."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

Harvey got up and went next door, to his own bedroom. Mike could hear him in there, moving around, getting dressed.

When the mess on his chest started to dry, Mike heaved himself to his feet and headed to the bathroom. He guessed that Harvey would turn the cameras back on while he showered, but he was so used to them by now that he barely gave it a thought.

 

******

 

_thunderman69: Great stuff tonight. So hot when 'daddy' came on your face. Next time he should get some in your eyes, make you cry. I came almost as hard as you did._

_BDogg: Forget the jizz play. If I was there, I'd find better ways to make you cry._

_thunderman69: Who asked you, asshole? No one wants to see your ugly face on camera._

"Do they know each other?" Mike asked, savoring another spoonful of ice cream.

Harvey was sitting in his armchair, tapping away on his work laptop. For once, he wasn't involved in the post-session debriefing, having brought home some actual lawyer stuff tonight. "I doubt it. They've gone a few rounds in the comments before. Who cares?"

"Oh, shit. Listen to this." Mike read out loud:

_BDogg: Buzz off, little insect. Buzz buzz. Mikey's not for you. I'll squash you like the bug you are._

_thunderman69: rolling my eyes so hard._

_BDogg: Unless you can roll them all the way to the back of your head, you'll never see me coming._

_BDogg: Mikey, DM me._

_BDogg: DM me._

_BDogg: DM me._

"Mike."

"Hm?"

"I'm trying to work."

"I know, but, he just repeats that, over and over. 'DM me.' I think he's coming unhinged."

"Ignore him."

Mike turned the screen towards Harvey. "Look. 'DM me. DM me.' How weird is that?"

"Seriously, if you can’t be quiet, you'll have to go back to your room."

Mike scowled at him, but it was lost on Harvey, since he never looked up. Mike watched BDogg's comment repeat, line after line, all the way to the bottom of the screen. Evidently thunderman69 had grown bored, because he didn't fling any further insults.

Mike positioned the mouse pointer over BDogg's name, and let it hover there. A quick glance over at Harvey assured Mike that he was still too engrossed in work to pay him any attention. He clicked on BDogg's name. When nothing happened, he realized he would have to set up a login for himself, since Harvey had never shared his administrator password with him. He considered possible screen names, and settled on "Mikey."

The website required only minimal personal information to complete the set up, but he did need to enter a credit card number. Luckily, he'd used Harvey's often enough to order food, and had the number committed to memory, so he used that. He snuck another glance at Harvey, vaguely guilty, but squelched the feeling. He wouldn't realize what Mike had done until he received his next statement. Let him add the $19.95 plus tax to Mike's bill. It might be worth it for some momentary entertainment. Plus, the proceeds from the livestream all went to pay off Mike’s debt, so really, it was a wash.

Mike clicked on BDogg's name again, and sent him a message: _"'sup, BDogg?"_

The repeating lines stopped abruptly.

_BDogg: Mikey? Is that really you?_

_Mikey: It's Mike, actually._

_BDogg: Prove it's you._

_Mikey: Prove it's not._

Mike snickered, watching the cursor blink as BDogg pondered that.

_BDogg: Turn the camera on in your bedroom._

After considering the wisdom of humoring his unhinged fan, Mike gave a fatalistic shrug. Without another word to Harvey, he carried the laptop into the bedroom and sat on the bed. He switched on the cameras.

_Mikey: Hey._

_BDogg: Wave, so I know it's you._

Mike waggled his fingers at the camera.

_BDogg: Hot damn. Identity confirmed._

_Mikey: What do you want?_

_BDogg: Take your cock out and play with it for me._

_Mikey: No, I mean why'd you want me to DM you?_

_BDogg: I wanted to talk to you without all those buzzing insects._

_BDogg: But, really. Take your cock out._

_Mikey: If I do, what will you do for me?_

_BDogg: Stop playing games._

_Mikey: You know my name. What's yours?_

_BDogg: Take your cock out._

_Mikey: What are you, a bot?_

_BDogg: Mikey …_

_Mikey: Mike._

_BDogg: I know things._

_Mikey: Doubtful._

_Mikey: Okay, I'll bite. What do you think you know?_

_BDogg: Things about your "Daddy"_

_Mikey: Bullshit._

_BDogg: So defensive._

_Mikey: No. Borrrrrred. Entertain me, motherfucker._

_BDogg: Who is paying who?_

He had a point. Mike was about ready call a halt to the idiotic conversation. This was not as fun as he'd hoped it would be.

_BDogg: I want to meet you._

Mike straightened up, his stomach doing a little flip – and not in a good way.

_Mikey: Not a chance._

_BDogg: I have things I need to tell you. Secrets to be revealed._

_Mikey: What secrets?_

_BDogg: Secrets about your ‘Daddy’ and what he’s capable of._

Mike began to suspect his fan was not right in the head.

_Mikey: Believe me, I already know what he’s capable of._

_BDogg: Doubtful. Meet me tomorrow morning at the Starbucks in the Woolworth Building. 10:00._

_Mikey: Impossible. We’re done here._

_BDogg: Meet me. If not … don’t think I can’t find you._

Mike shut the laptop, cursing himself for letting one of the pervs get inside his head. Of course he wasn’t going to meet him. He might be reckless, but he wasn’t crazy. Besides, if Harvey ever found out, who knew what he’d do? Probably find some way to quadruple Mike’s debt as a punitive measure.

His gaze drifted to the photograph of the Chrysler Building, and he remembered that he was still on camera. He imagined thousands of eyes staring back at him, watching avidly, waiting for him to touch himself, to entertain them. He imagined unknown, faceless BDogg glaring at him, angry for reasons Mike couldn’t fathom. Did he know this person? Had he run into him somewhere in his checkered past? He had to be bluffing about knowing something about Harvey.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, he palmed his dick and stroked lazily. It twitched once or twice in response, but that was all. Then he pictured himself earlier with Harvey, begging for his Daddy to fuck him hard, and his dick began to swell.

Damn it. More unwanted self-knowledge. He evidently had a Daddy kink he’d never known about.

He deleted his chat history, and then gave his fans an unscheduled performance. It didn't last long. Images of Harvey had him convulsing and coming hard within minutes.

 

******

 

Sometimes it seemed as if the only real peace that Mike got these days was when he was asleep. The cameras stayed off all night, and he didn't have to deal with Harvey. On this night, after his strange exchange with BDogg, he brushed his teeth and crawled into bed, ready to relax and forget about his bullshit life for a few hours.

He'd only gotten as far as the relaxing part when a shadow appeared in his doorway.

"Mike," whispered Harvey.

"Mmph."

Without being invited, Harvey slipped underneath the covers next to Mike.

Fully awake now, Mike switched on the lamp on the nightstand and eyed Harvey blearily. "What are doing?" he rasped.

Harvey’s response was to roll closer and slide a hand between Mike’s legs. While squeezing gently, he scraped the edge of his teeth against Mike’s neck. Any objection Mike might have voiced was overruled by the instant want Harvey’s touch produced, and his hips bucked against Harvey’s hand, needing more.

It was disorienting, for the first few minutes, not to be doing this for an audience. There were only the two of them now, moving together, touching, and kissing, and sighing in the dark. No cameras meant that Mike couldn’t use the excuse that he was doing this to improve their revenue streams. Not that he’d ever really believed that, but it had been a convenient lie, used to excuse his overwhelming lust for such a despicable human being.

Harvey rolled him onto his back, covering him with his body, and probed his hole with one finger. Mike squirmed underneath him. Harvey poked his finger past resistance. At the same time, he thrust his tongue into Mike’s mouth and kissed him, slow and dirty. Mike grasped his shoulders, kissing him back with a desperation that surprised both of them. He arched his back and wriggled his hips, seeking closer contact.

Harvey seemed only too happy to oblige. He pulled out his finger and pressed his cockhead into Mike’s hole, forcing himself in, lubricated only with what was left inside from their earlier joining. It burned, and Mike ached, but he didn’t push him away. He groaned, and his fingertips dug into Harvey’s shoulders, making him grunt. _Good,_ thought Mike. _We should both feel the pain, because this is fucked up._

Almost as if he’d heard Mike’s thoughts, Harvey reached for one of Mike’s nipples, pinching it, hard and cruel. Mike arched up further, letting out a noise that was half-gasp, and half-sob. “Fuck,” he bit out. And then, “Do it again.”

Harvey pinched him again, while his mouth sought out the other nipple, worrying it with his teeth before biting hard enough to leave marks. Mike grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged, not to dislodge Harvey, but for the satisfaction of seeing him wince. He felt a vibration at his chest as Harvey laughed into his nipple, which he still held firmly between his teeth. Not letting up, he snapped his hips back, and slammed into Mike.

Locked together with teeth, fingers, arms and legs, pinching, grabbing, tearing at one another, they found the rhythm, and rocked together, filling the air with their animal noises of pain, and pleasure and striving.

 

******

 

"You're up early."

Harvey stood in the kitchen, dressed for daily battle in one of his perfect suits, and sipping from a mug of coffee.

Mike, in wrinkled pajama pants and a t-shirt that needed washing, shuffled to the coffeemaker with eyes half-shut, poured a mug for himself, and took several bracing gulps, ignoring the burn of too hot coffee. Finally, when a sufficient number of neurons were ping-ponging around in his brain, he spoke.

"I, uh, I was wondering it if would be okay if I went outside for a couple of hours today."

After Harvey left him asleep in his bed, he'd woken up a few hours later in a cold panic, regretting every choice he'd made since he'd regained consciousness in the hospital – and most of the ones he'd made even before that. What the hell was he doing, his brain screamed, cozying up to the enemy like he had been?

A sense of hopelessness had washed over him. He was stuck here for many more months, trapped, unless … BDogg claimed he had some big secret about Harvey. It was a long shot, but if it panned out, maybe it was something Mike could use as leverage, to get himself free of this insane situation he'd found himself in. He'd never know unless he worked up the courage to meet with what might turn out to be a dangerously unbalanced stranger.

Just another day in the fabulous life of Mike Ross.

"Outside?" asked Harvey, speaking the word as if the meaning escaped him, and frowning at Mike over the top of his mug. "Is there something you need? I can get it for you, or ask Donna to messenger it over."

Mike put on his best pouty face. "I need some fresh air. I need a damn change of scenery. I feel like I'm climbing the walls here. I'm turning into a mushroom. It's been months, and I haven't had a single day off. Even burger flippers get time off every now and then."

Harvey sighed, and pinched in the corners of his mouth, marring its elegant curves. "What was it you wanted to do outside?"

"I don't know." He thought rapidly, spinning a lie that was vague, but carried a kernel of truth. "Mingle with normal people. Try to pretend for a little while that I'm normal. Maybe just sit and have a cup of coffee while I watch the world go by."

Harvey stared at him for long seconds, unblinking. "Why do I feel like there's something you're not telling me?"

_Because you're a controlling, manipulative asshole who thinks everyone is as devious as you are._ Which Mike sort of was, or at least aspired to be in that moment. He laced his voice with sarcasm. "Oh, right. You got me. I'm interviewing with other porn traffickers to see if I can cut a better deal." He rolled his eyes. "I just need some outdoor oxygen in my brain." He heard how stupid that sounded, so he widened his eyes in an effort to exude sincerity.

"Hm. I don't know."

"Jesus, Harvey. Don't you get it? I'm burning the fuck out." He sucked in a slow breath, getting his temper back under control. "Look at it as a way to protect your investment. I get a couple of hours to clear my head, and you get a grateful, newly enthusiastic porn monkey."

Harvey was quiet for so long, just frowning at Mike, that he was convinced he was going to refuse. Instead, he said, "I suppose … But in return, you'll add a lunchtime performance, and I want you to keep the cameras on all day from now on." He thought for a second. "No clothes allowed for the next month. And tonight, I'll bring home a new toy for you to use on yourself, no questions and no arguments. Deal?"

Was Mike going to regret this? Probably. He would add it to his growing mountain of regrets, and hope for once a rash decision turned out to be worth the risk. "Sure, but I want this time off to become a regular thing, not just a one and done."

Harvey's answering sigh was part growl. "Two hours, once a week. Today is Wednesday. Every Wednesday, you may take two hours away in the morning, as long as you continue with the modifications I've outlined."

"You're asking for too much for a lousy two hours a week. I'll agree to two naked days per week, and two lunchtime performances." Mike was reasonably certain that he wouldn't go for it, and so he was surprised when after only the briefest of pauses, Harvey nodded. Relief swept through him, and he resolutely ignored the trepidation that came with it. He had one more request. "I'm going to need a key."

Harvey put his mug in the sink and went into his bedroom, returning with two keys hanging from a brushed chrome keychain in the shape of the state of New York. He set the keychain on the counter in front of Mike. "Don't lose it," was all he said, before collecting his laptop and leaving for work.

 

******

 

After showering and getting dressed (with the cameras off, fuck you very much, Harvey), Mike shot off a quick DM to BDogg, grabbed the keys, and left the building for the first time in over three months.

Winter had come and gone while he'd been shut up in the penthouse. Today, weak spring sunshine forced its way through shifting clouds, not providing much warmth, but lifting Mike's spirits ever so slightly. It was a half hour walk to the coffee shop, and he savored every moment of it. Brice's PT had been successful. He hardly limped at all.

He arrived at the designated Starbucks fifteen minutes early, and then realized he'd forgotten to ask Harvey for spending money. He cursed himself, cursed Harvey for good measure, and found a corner in the busy store where he could be inconspicuous and watch the front door -- not that he had the first idea what BDogg looked like.

Someone had left a newspaper on the table, which at least provided him something to do while he waited. Everyone else in the place seemed to have either a phone, or a laptop, or both, upon which they focused religiously. Mike's phone had been destroyed in the accident, but Harvey had grudgingly bought him a new one a few weeks ago, and then promptly added the cost of it to his tab.

He flipped through the paper, shaking his head occasionally. The world was certainly a fucked up mess. Weirdly, this made him feel better about his own situation. He may be a loser, a weakling, and a degenerate-in-training, but at least he wasn't actively working to destroy the world. In fact, a fairly convincing argument could be made that he was making it a better place, what with the sex, and the orgasms and all. He smiled to himself as he considered this, and then jumped when someone bumped his chair.

He looked behind himself, but saw only two young woman in designer dresses, angling for a table in the corner. The place had filled while he'd been catching up on the news. He became acutely aware of his drink-less table, but doubted that anyone would pay him enough attention to care that he'd been freeloading for past half hour.

Had he really been here that long? He checked his phone and discovered that it was nearly ten-thirty already. Mike scanned the whole store, searching for likely candidates. What would a BDogg look like, he wondered? He amused himself imagining that for a while. The guy would be creepy and twitchy, for starters. Maybe he'd have a permanent scowl on his face. And a hand in one pocket, moving furtively.

It didn't make sense that he'd lured Mike out here, and now wouldn't bother to make himself known to him. Actually, though, maybe it did make a certain twisted sense. Someone who got his rocks off through a computer monitor might prefer to stay hidden in the shadows. This was probably little more than a game to him.

Mike decided to stick around for another half hour, unless the baristas noticed him skulking there with no drink at his elbow and worked up the ambition to kick him out.

He'd read the whole paper and didn't have a pen to work the crossword or sudoku, so he spent his time idly imagining what he might do with his life once he got out from under Harvey's thumb, after either working off his debt, or finagling a way to leverage BDogg's alleged secret about Harvey. He felt physically strong enough by now to return to his bike messenger job, if they'd have him. Except he didn’t have a bike. Maybe he could go back to school. He was still relatively young. If he could figure out what he wanted to do with his life, surely he could summon the will and the energy to make it happen.

The trouble was, he could hardly see past today, or the mountain of debt which he'd barely chipped away at, and it looked as if BDogg was turning into the latest disappointment in a life filled with a thousand disappointments. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, preparatory to sliding back his chair and standing. A hand landed on his shoulder. He whipped his head around and froze.

"This was your big plan for the day?" asked Harvey, seating himself across from Mike, an amused sneer on his handsome face. He carried two large coffee drinks, and set one down in front of Mike.

"What? How did you … I mean, _what_?"

"Drink your coffee."

Mike didn't need the caffeine, but taking a long gulp of the (surprisingly delicious) drink gave him time to gather his thoughts. He wasn't doing anything wrong, at least as far as Harvey knew. BDogg was nowhere to be seen, and Mike had only been minding his own business, doing exactly what he'd told Harvey he intended to do: sitting and watching the world go by.

Harvey worked close by, so it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility that he'd happened to walk past, and had spotted Mike through the window. However, it did strain credulity somewhat. If this wasn't an accidental meeting, how had Harvey known where to find him? Sudden understanding dawned, and he glanced down at his phone where it sat on the table, giving it an annoyed look.

Harvey's mouth stretched into a grin. If Mike didn't know what an unrepentant dick he was, he might have said that Harvey looked proud of how quickly Mike had figured it out.

"GPS tracking," Harvey confirmed. "For the low, low price of fifteen dollars a month, I can find you anywhere in the world."

"You mean you can find my phone."

"True." He eyed Mike across the table for half a minute, serious and unblinking. "Do me a favor, and keep the phone with you at all times."

"It's almost as if you don't trust me." He widened his eyes, giving the statement emphasis.

"Should I?"

"I've done everything you wanted me to."

Harvey shook his head and looked away, an expression of disappointment on his face. "You lied, and you're still lying. I stated unambiguously that I didn't want you to interact with any of your fans. I absolutely did not want you to arrange to meet one of them in person. And yet, here you are."

Mike's stomach gave an unpleasant flip. He closed his eyes. "How?" But he knew. Even though he'd deleted the chat with BDogg, as site administrator Harvey must retain access to those sessions. _Shit._ He met Harvey's hard gaze and swallowed painfully. "Okay. I fucked up. You got me."

"Oh, I think we both know I already had you. For this transgression, there will be consequences."

"Of course there will." Mike briefly considered running out of the store and throwing himself in front of a bus. Then he remembered how he'd gotten into this mess in the first place, and shuddered. "What consequences? You might as well give me the bad news now."

"You'll have a visitor this afternoon. In the meantime, Ray is waiting outside to drive you home."

Home? Mike almost snorted out loud at that, but thought better of it. "What visitor?"

Instead of answering Mike's question, Harvey said, "You can expect him in about two hours."

Mike did not like the sound of that at all, and his stomach gave another queasy roll. "Who?"

"I suppose you could say he's a colleague of yours."

"Of mine?"

Harvey glanced to the tables on either side of them before lowering his voice. "He has considerably more experience at this than you. That's beside the point. The important thing to remember is that he's acting as my proxy. Unlike me, Blake doesn't mind showing his face on camera."

"Blake?"

"Yes. I believe you know him as BDogg.”

“Ah.” _Betrayal._ All the air seemed leave Mike’s lungs at once.”

“Do whatever he tells you to do. I said there'd be consequences. You may not like it, but I expect you to suck it up and take your punishment."

"But, what – "

Harvey glanced at his watch. "I have a client meeting. Do this for me, and I won't add to your balance. Give Blake any problems and …" He trailed off, but his meaning was clear: _Play ball, or else._

As he watched Harvey stride out of the Starbucks, Mike tracked his movement up the sidewalk. He didn’t bother to weave in and out of the crowds like a normal person, but barreled straight ahead, as if he owned the city.

What must it feel like, Mike wondered, to be possessed of that amount of self-confidence? He’d find it attractive, if it came with any sort of a moral compass.

He smiled sourly. Who was he kidding? He still found it attractive as hell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bad Thing happens in this chapter.

Mike despised Blake ("No last names, kid") on sight. He was steroidally buff, several inches taller than Mike, with streaky blond highlights in his brown hair, carefully lined hazel eyes, a perfect slope of a nose, plump, glossy lips, and wearing what Mike supposed could be termed "resort wear" (beige drawstring pants, tight, striped t-shirt, and sneakers with no socks). Expensive sunglasses perched on top of his head, pulling back half of his long bangs, creating an effect which was ridiculously arty and flawless. He carried a black leather backpack with him, which he set on the floor between them.

"So, what are you supposed to be?" asked Mike, after Blake had explained, providing infuriatingly few details, what Harvey wanted, "some kind of free-lance porn-fixer?"

"Think of me as a fixer. Your little enterprise is a bit … anemic, and I'm here to put some sizzle into it."

"Sizzle."

"Look, Mikey, it's kind of my thing."

"It's Mike." He sounded sullen and uncooperative, which is exactly how he felt.

"Harvey's paying my fee. He says you're Mikey, so you're Mikey." Blake sighed dramatically. "Please tell me you're not going to be difficult about all this."

"Difficult about what? What is it you think we're going to do?"

"What do you think? We're going to put on a little show for the cameras."

"Uh, nope. I did not agree to that."

"You might want to reread your contract."

Mike remained stubbornly silent.

"This doesn't have to be a chore, Mike. I'll tell you what: for starters, we're just going to get to know each other. How's that sound?" He stood up. "I'm going to grab a drink. What do you want?" He strolled into Harvey's kitchen as if he'd been there before, which he probably had.

"I'm fine." Mike stared at the far wall, trying to wrestle down his resentment. If Blake was supposed to be a "colleague," did that mean he'd once occupied the bedroom where Mike was staying?

An opened bottle of water appeared near his face. "Come on. Lighten up. I don't want to drink alone."

Baring his teeth in a fake-gracious smile, Mike took the water, and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

Blake bared his teeth right back. He'd selected a beer for himself, and it dangled from two fingers. "Why don't you show me your set up?"

"My what?"

"The bedroom. Cameras. Angles. I've checked out the website, but it helps to see it in person."

Okay, maybe Blake's star turn on Harvey's website had taken place elsewhere. Mike polished off his water and stood up, wondering if there was any way to get out of this. How far did Blake intend to take it? More importantly, how far would Mike let him go? Harvey must be furious with him to inflict this on him. Blake picked up his backpack and followed him into the bedroom.

 

******

 

Blake paced around Mike's room, examining the bed, and the walls, and the placement of the cameras, shooting quick, speculative glances at Mike every so often. "There's only so much you can do with stationary cameras," he explained. "Harvey's just a dabbler, though. I've tried to talk him into expanding, investing in more equipment, maybe leasing a warehouse, hiring more talent. I guess he enjoys being a lawyer too much to give it up. He could make a bundle, though. It’s a growth industry."

Mike nodded distractedly, finding that he was having trouble focusing on Blake's words. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his clasped hands. “Uh, yeah,” he said, because it seemed like Blake was waiting for a response. Truthfully, he couldn't remember the last thing Blake had said. Without warning, the room undulated sickeningly, and Mike shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, Blake was squatting near the backpack and pulling out a heavy leather strap. He stood up and eyed Mike closely.

"Hey, you don't look so good, Mikey. Maybe you should lie down." He hefted the strap. “Preferably on your stomach.”

“What?” Mike stood up too fast, and blinked as the room greyed out for a moment.

Blake smiled. “Harvey sent me here to give you a message.”

“That’s … No. I don’t think so.” Mike shook his head, which turned out to be a mistake. It only made him dizzier. He swayed, and felt a strong hand latch onto his arm, holding him upright.

“Better lie down before you fall down, Mikey.”

“Fuck you.”

Blake’s eyes darkened with either amusement or anger, Mike couldn’t be sure which. “Now, is that any way to talk?”

 The room shifted weirdly again, and suddenly lying down sounded like an excellent idea. Head spinning, Mike crawled to the center of the bed and collapsed on his back. He didn’t protest when Blake tugged off his shoes and socks, assuming he was only trying to make him more comfortable. God, what was wrong with him? He could barely keep his eyes open.

When Blake started on Mike's jeans, it finally dawned on him that something was wrong, beyond his drowsiness and disorientation. Mike made a grab for his wrist and missed. He tried again, lifting a hand which felt as if bricks were attached, and slapped ineffectually at Blake, again missing by inches. Mike forced his eyes open and blinked, confused.

Blake grinned down at him, pulling Mike's pants down to his hips, and then dragging them the rest of the way off and tossing them to the floor. His t-shirt was removed just as easily. Mike wanted to resist, but it seemed like too much work, and his limbs did not seem inclined to cooperate. Through drooping eyelids, he watched Blake lift the remote and turn on the cameras.

"Let's include your fans," Blake whispered.

Mike tried to ask, "Include them in what?" but the words emerged as garbled nonsense.

With what was left of his deteriorating thought processes, he wished he could complete the slide into oblivion, so he wouldn't have to be present for whatever Blake had planned, which he guessed would be something he'd rather not remember. He shut his eyes, but the bed seemed to spin in a tight circle, so he opened them again, and kept them wide, fixed on Blake and what he was doing. He hefted the strap in one hand and then gave a harsh laugh and tossed it to the foot of the bed. “Change of plans,” he murmured.

Based on his air of arrogant superiority, Mike might have expected Blake to be more inventive. His rape of Mike was surprisingly pedestrian, however. After undressing, he lubed up his enormous cock (using a condom, thank God), rolled an unresisting Mike onto his belly, yanked his hips up, and drove in, hard and fast, without any prep to ease the way. Mike made a sound like a wounded animal and tried to claw at the covers, but his arms no longer worked properly. Seated fully inside Mike, Blake grabbed him by his hair and lifted his face.

"You felt that, didn't you," he rasped in Mike's ear. "Show your fans those gorgeous baby blues, Mikey. Let 'em see how good I make you suffer."

Mike's vision blurred, but not from whatever Blake had slipped into his drink. Blake pulled out and rammed in again, settling into a brutal rhythm. Each slam into him forced a pained grunt from Mike. He had no control over his body, or his vocal chords, or his goddamn life. He dropped his head to the mattress, but Blake was having none of that. He wrapped an arm around Mike's throat, effectively keeping his face aimed at the camera. Mike rode out the burning pain, enduring until the worst of it subsided after a minute or two of Blakes rough attentions.

Blake was vocal and enthusiastic, whooping like some cheesy version of a Hollywood cowboy intent on breaking a wild horse. He sat back on his heels, pulling Mike with him, so that they were both kneeling, partially upright. He fucked up into Mike with hard, athletic stabs, tweaked his nipples until they throbbed, and bit down on his shoulder with such force that the pain actually succeeded in clearing Mike's head slightly. He sort of wished it hadn't.

He wanted to be gone, away from here. He wriggled, testing Blake's hold, but he had him too tightly clasped, and he was too strong. Mike stared helplessly across the room at the picture of the Chrysler Building, wondering how many viewers were tuned into the livestream, witnessing this act of violence while they touched themselves and shot their loads. He felt too vulnerable, more on display than he had in all the time he'd been here. As much as he wanted to turn away, he was trapped.

"Please stop," he whispered, or tried to. The words butted up against the incipient sobs that squeezed his throat too tightly. 

Blake grasped Mike's cock in his meaty hand and stroked him off. Mike grew instantly hard, and then moments later he was coming, spattering the bed. Shame nearly choked him.

"Oh, yeah. That's it, baby. YEE-haw." Blake slapped Mike's hip with the flat of his palm. This must have given him an idea, because he pulled out of Mike and flipped him around to lie across his lap. The strap was in his hand again, and he used it on Mike for several minutes, jarring every cell in his body and making him groan nonstop. Even through his numbness, the pain was incredible. The ugly sound of leather on tender flesh reverberated through the room.

Blake hit hard, and Mike’s ass quickly grew hot, and throbbed with pain. He managed to squirm, and to crawl halfway off Blake’s lap, which gave him hope that drug was wearing off. Maybe it was, but that didn’t stop Blake from controlling him with ease. He treated Mike’s ass to half a dozen more punishing smacks, before throwing Mike onto his back and straddling him with his muscular thighs. He captured Mike’s arms above his head with one hand, used the other to tear off the condom, and beat off vigorously.

Mike eyed the gargantuan, veiny hunk of meat, marveling that the monster cock had been inside him. He should have been prepared for the cum shot, should have shut his eyes, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t.

“Oh, yeah,” Blake groaned theatrically as he came. Cum striped Mike's face and chest, clung to his hair, and dripped into one of his eyes, causing him to blink and blink against the burn.

Blake wasn’t done with him yet. Pressing an arm to Mike’s throat, he pushed his face against his, whispering too low for their audience to hear. “Harvey has a message for you,” he growled, "from BDogg.  This is what happens to disobedient boys. From now on, behave.” He dragged a finger through cum and poked it into Mike’s mouth.

Mike jerked his face to the side, but Blake immobilized him with a fist in his fair, and forced his jizz into Mike’s mouth, until he was gagging, and his eyes watered.

Then Blake looked straight into the camera, grinning wolfishly. “Did y’all enjoy that? Be sure to let Mikey know in the comments. Tell him what you’d like to see next. Be imaginative, and most importantly, stay tuned.” He shook Mike’s head roughly. “I’d say this slutty bitch is up for anything.”

He turned off the cameras then, and left the bed, gathering up his clothes, moving quickly, as if he couldn't wait to be out of there. “We gave ‘em a good show, kid. Don’t worry, that stuff in your system will wear off soon. Expect a headache, maybe a little puking. No worse than a moderately bad hangover. See you around. Or be good, and we can avoid a replay of this.”

As he left the room, Mike heard a phone ringing. He thought it was his own at first, but realized it was Blake's, who had made it only as far as the living room. Mike lay listlessly on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Hey, Har—whoa, slow down. I did just what you – Uh huh. Uh huh. You said you wanted – Maybe you should have been more specific, then. No, you gave me a job to do, and I did it." A pause. "Well, fuck you.  Who is this kid to you, anyway? We both know he's no virgin." More silence, and then Blake's voice rose even further, sounding just at the edge of panic. "Fuck you, man. I'm not sticking around. You can go to hell."

A few seconds later, probably the length of time it took for Blake to throw on the rest of his clothes, Mike heard the front door slam. He let out a long, slow breath, and imagined that if he'd been conscious immediately after being hit by Ray's town car, this might have been how he would have felt: numb, sick, slipping into shock, wishing he could rewind the day – rewind his whole fucking life – do it all again, but do it right this time.

His gaze drifted from the ceiling, down to his arm, willing it to move, and he nearly sobbed in relief when it obeyed him by lifting minutely off the bed. He bent and unbent his leg, raised his head, and let it fall heavily back to the mattress. Panting, he marshalled his strength. Moving one careful inch at a time, he threw his right leg over his left, rolled onto his stomach, bringing himself near the edge of the bed, and dropped first one foot and then the other to the ground. When he tried to push up with his arms, he discovered he didn't possess the strength yet, so he slid the rest of the way to the floor, rested a minute, and sat up on his knees.

This tiny amount of altitude created a sickening surge of vertigo. He closed his eyes and swayed, swallowing down his nausea. He gave himself several minutes this time to simply sit, breathe in and breathe out, until the feeling passed, and then tightened his jaw, determined that Harvey wouldn't find him on the floor, wouldn't get to witness his weakness, not again.

While he readied himself for another attempt at standing, he considered what to do next. Every time he thought he'd reached bottom in his life, the floor fell out from beneath him again, and he discovered another basement, lower than the last. As of today, he dwelt in the sub-basement, and he decided then and there that he could not stick around to experience the next level down. He'd had enough. He'd had too goddamn much. He'd live on the street, turn tricks of his own choosing, whatever he had to do to get out of here.

First, though, he had to stand up.

Feeling absurdly like an Olympic-level weightlifter competing in the cling and jerk, he got one foot under himself, and then the other, braced his hands on the edge of the bed, and hoisted himself up.  Upright, he teetered, lurched backwards, stumbled and almost fell, but got a hand on the wall. He held himself up, eyes closed and teeth clenched. Dizziness passed. He opened his eyes to find the framed print of the Chrysler Building directly in front of him.

Even though he'd seen Blake turn off the cameras, he snarled at the picture, as if all his fans, all those faceless strangers out there could still see him. He'd been studiously not thinking about what had just happened, but now sense memory swept over him, the feel of Blake inside him, the hot, humiliating splat of his cum on his face …

Mike's chest heaved up and down as anger built inside of him. Fuck Blake. Fuck Harvey and this whole fucked up situation. His vision dimmed with rage, and before he knew what he planned to do, he lifted his arm and smashed his fist into the Chrysler Building. The glass which covered the print shattered and spiderwebbed. Half a second later, the pain caught up to him, exploding through his fist and dispelling more of the fog inside his head. Blood dripped freely from a cut on his knuckles.

He didn't care. He wasn't finished yet. He tore the picture from the wall and tossed it on the bed. The camera was smaller than he'd imagined, probably some expensive, high tech item Harvey had splurged on for his "hobby." Mike tore at it, trying to rip it from its mount, and then had a better idea. He grabbed one of the nightstand lamps, his anger giving him strength, and bashed the heavy base against the lens of the camera, over and over, pulverizing it and leaving several dents in the wall.

He went after the ceiling camera next, lifting the lamp above his head and swinging away until bits of smashed camera and light fixture rained down on him, catching in his hair, and adhering to his face, reminding him that he was still sticky with Blake's jizz. He hurled the lamp against the wall, and it gave a satisfying crash.

In a rush now to get to the shower and clean all traces of Blake from his skin, he stepped too quickly off the bed. Hot pain spiked up his leg and his knee buckled crazily. He caught himself on the edge of the bed to keep from falling all the way to the floor, cursing as tears leaked out of his closed eyelids. The pain receded, allowing him to limp unsteadily into the bathroom and turn on the shower.

Hot water rinsed away the worst of the mess, at least on the outside. He had a bad moment when he spotted blood in the water, until he realized it was dripping from the hand that had demolished the Chrysler Building. Hot water loosened his muscles and drained away the crazy energy which was all that was keeping him on his feet, but he had one more thing to do before he would allow himself to collapse.

The camera in the shower was mounted just below the shower head. He scanned the bathroom for something to use on it. Going all the way back into the bedroom for the lamp seemed out of the question. The wooden hairbrush, he decided, would have to do. Holding it like Anthony Perkins had held the butcher knife in _Psycho,_ he brought the handle down on top of the camera, using short, brutal stabbing motions. It took several minutes, but then all of a sudden the camera plummeted to the floor of the shower. Mike fished it out of the water and tossed it into the corner, behind the toilet.

His body took this success as its signal to let go and shut down. His legs gave way, and he folded like a sheet of paper someone had crumpled in their fist.

When the water ran cold, he summoned the energy to shut it off, but stayed where he was for the moment. He needed to stand up, get dressed, and get the hell out of here. He had no money, nothing worth anything except for his phone. Maybe he could sell that. In his mind's eye, he scanned the condo for items both valuable and easily portable. Harvey had a handful of pricey watches and cufflinks on his dresser.

Mike's stomach cramped at the thought of turning to thievery, but he hardened himself against the guilt. What Harvey had done to him was so much worse, and he deserved whatever payback Mike could come up with. One of Harvey's watches should get him enough to hole up in a hotel and subsist until he found employment.

He began to shiver, but even that wasn't enough to spur him to action. He'd expended all his reserves of energy. For the moment, all he could do was stay where he was and shake.

 

******

 

The sharp slam of a door brought Mike back to full wakefulness. Had Blake returned? Heart thudding crazily, he looked around the bathroom for a weapon.

"Mike? Mike! Where are – _Oh, shit."_

The voice belonged unmistakably to Harvey, and Mike would bet he had just discovered the wreck Mike had made of the guest room. He gave a grim smile of satisfaction, even as his chilled body convulsed with shivers.

The bathroom door burst open, banging against the wall. Harvey took one step into the bathroom and froze. Mike wasn't sure how long he'd been huddling in the bathtub, but he hadn't turned completely blue from the cold, so it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes or so. Based upon that, Harvey must have left work right after speaking with Blake on the phone.

"Mike …" Harvey stood in the middle of the room, taking in every inch of Mike, and the ruined camera in the corner, and the bits of debris clogging the tub and keeping it from draining completely.

Was he totaling up the monetary damage? Mike imagined he could hear the adding machine whirring in Harvey's mind.

Mike shut his eyes. "Add it to my fucking tab," he whispered, teeth clenched and voice shaking.

Harvey muttered something too low for Mike to make out, and held a towel out to him. "Dry off," he said emotionlessly.

He might have stayed in the tub, just to spite Harvey, but he was shivering badly by now, so he accepted the towel and stood. He must have moved too quickly, because a wave of dizziness washed through him and his vision greyed out. Harvey lunged forward and caught his arms, holding him upright, and bringing their faces only inches apart.

Mike blinked to clear his vision. "You're a bastard," he said, at the same time that Harvey asked, "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Pulling free of Harvey's grasp, Mike climbed out of the tub, wincing when he put weight on the ankle he'd twisted earlier. "No."

Harvey shadowed him to the spare bedroom. Mike paused on the threshold to admire his handiwork, and then limped to the dresser, avoiding fragments of plastic and glass that littered the floor, and pulled out a change of clothes. When he glanced at Harvey, he found him looking as uncomfortable as Mike had ever seen him. Mike began dressing, stumbling and hopping from foot to foot as he fought with his jeans. He winced when the crotch came in contact with his abused ass. Once the jeans were fastened, he yanked on a t-shirt.

The silence between them thickened and stretched, until finally Harvey broke it. "Look, Mike, what happened here earlier, with Blake … that was a mistake."

"Oh." He made air quotes. "'What happened here.' You mean, what you put in motion, where you sent a complete stranger over here to drug and rape me?" His voice caught on the awful, ugly word, and he turned away, unwilling to put his churning emotions on full display for Harvey.

"It was a mistake," repeated Harvey. "He wasn't acting on my orders."

"Yeah? What were your orders?" He tugged on a pair of socks, and shoved his feet into his sneakers, not bothering to untie them first. "He claimed you sent him here to teach me the wisdom of obedience, or some such bullshit. Are you saying he lied?"

"He was never meant to touch you like that. I made that clear to him."

Anger clogged Mike's throat for several seconds. He glanced around the room for something else to smash, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he glared at Harvey. "Guess what? He touched me exactly like that." A shiver rippled through him that had nothing to do with being cold.

"I know." Harvey's face tightened briefly, and his gaze skittered away. "I was watching."

Mike had known this. Hearing Harvey say it, though, and witnessing his sick disgust, and what could only be regret … this is what finally broke Mike, puncturing the white hot rage which was the only thing keeping him upright and moving. He staggered from the wreck of the bedroom to the living room and collapsed into the armchair, leaning forward and covering his face with his hands. He remained peripherally aware of Harvey hovering nearby, and was prepared to leap up and bolt if he came any closer.  Harvey kept his distance, and kept quiet for the moment.

Hidden behind the inadequate shield of his hands, Mike struggled to make sense of what had happened. It had just been sex, he told himself. He hadn't asked for it, hadn't wanted it, but he'd had plenty of unpleasant hook-ups in his life. Getting a pre-sex roofie was a new experience. Maybe he could wrap his head around that by comparing it to the times he'd been blind drunk or high as fuck when he'd, well, fucked. And yeah, there was the added twist of his internet audience. Then again, he'd let Harvey fuck him a couple of times in front of the cameras, and he hated Harvey.

_Didn't he?_

He lowered his hands slowly, considering the question. He discovered Harvey seated across from him, his expression suspended, waiting for Mike to speak. Perhaps waiting for Mike to pronounce his verdict.

"I'm not going to stay here any longer," Mike stated.

Harvey's face seemed to twitch – not quite a flinch, but close. "Where will you go?"

Mike shrugged. "No idea."

"You have no money."

Was Harvey actually going to try to argue him out of this? "You could reimburse me for services rendered."

"That won't come close to paying off the balance of what you owe."

The effort to keep his voice level was so great that Mike's head began to pound. "My balance was paid off an hour ago. In there." He pointed at the spare bedroom.

Harvey was silent for at least a full minute. His mouth tucked in at the corner, as if he was biting the inside of his cheek. Finally, "Okay," he said. That was all. _Okay._

If Mike was expecting him to pull out his wallet, or his checkbook, he was disappointed. They regarded one another across the expanse of the coffee table. Mike felt lightheaded, as if his blood sugar was plummeting. He needed to stand up, get moving again, go out into the world and figure out his next move.

When Harvey spoke, his words were the last thing Mike had expected – or wanted – to hear. "Please stay."

Mike made a sound as if he'd been punched in the gut. He dropped his gaze and stared at the floor. "Why?" he rasped, frankly incredulous.

"Because … God, Mike, you look exhausted, and as if a light breeze could knock you over. You're hurt. I saw you limping. You might be – " He pressed his lips together into a tight, white line. "You might be hurt inside."

Mike barked out a cynical laugh. "There's no 'might' about it. Your town car did less damage to me than my stay at Casa Specter."

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“It’s not a feeling. It’s actual verifiable, empirical evidence.”

Harvey sighed, looking tired all of a sudden, and how was that even fair? He hadn’t had the day Mike had, or the last few months. He was the cause of it.

Mike knew he should throw his offer right back in his face. He was acutely aware that every time he’d had a chance to take a stand since he’d met Harvey, he’d lacked the courage, or force of will. The hell of it was, much as he grated at the control Harvey had over his life, Mike hadn’t precisely hated the entire experience.

He could be honest enough with himself to admit that he’d gotten off on the voyeuristic aspects of the webcams. He’d agreed to let Harvey fuck him, and he’d come harder than he ever had in his life. He hadn’t had to worry about his next meal, and the food had been unfailingly fantastic. He had a comfortable bed, none of the stresses involved in trying to eke out a living and keep a roof over his head in an unfriendly world.

He’d had it damn good, and that was the straight, unadulterated, fucked up truth.

But Harvey had sent Blake to him. The ugliness of that encounter wouldn’t fade soon. "I can't stay here," he said.

Harvey digested that. "You're in no condition to leave right now. It's getting late."

In a tone he might use to speak to an idiot child, Mike replied, "Just give me enough cash to stay in a hotel for a couple of days."

"I'm not carrying that much on me."

Mike clenched his jaw. "Then take your credit card out and make me a reservation." As he said this, it occurred to him that he could have made that reservation himself.

Another long, considering silence from Harvey. He appeared unhappy at Mike's insistence on leaving, but must have seen that he wouldn't be swayed. Pulling out his phone, he tapped it a few times, scrolled down, tapped it again and lifted it to his ear. From where he was sitting, Mike could hear it dialing, and then ringing on the other end. Harvey explained the situation to whoever answered, extracted his credit card from his wallet and rattled of the information. When he was finished, he hung up and dialed another number, which turned about to be a cab company.

He ended the second call and set the phone carefully on the coffee table. "You're all set. I've pre-paid for a week at the Chilton Hotel. You're authorized for room service, laundry services, premium movies, whatever you want. If you haven't found employment by the end of the week, call me at work, or text me, and I'll pay for another week. Take your phone. I'll disable the GPS tracking. And take the laptop. You'll need it for your job search. The cab will be here in fifteen minutes. You sit tight while I pack for you."

Having gotten what he wanted, Mike felt some of his anger collapse, leaving only deep weariness. He'd probably spend the first couple of days at the hotel sleeping – after he'd lifted down every picture on the wall to check behind it for cameras. He decided right then that he'd find some pretext to complain about whatever room they first assigned him, maybe go full diva and demand a random, specific floor. Logically, he knew Harvey couldn't have an arrangement at the hotel, but living with him all these months, and experiencing the extent of his manipulative bullshit, he'd acquired a substantial case of paranoia.

Harvey returned carrying a backpack stuffed with Mike's meager belongings, along with Harvey's personal laptop tucked into a carrying case. He set them near Mike, then emptied out his wallet and handed Mike a smallish stack of bills. Mike counted out fifty-seven dollars. It would have to do for now, he supposed.

Nothing held him to that place any longer. His debt, it seemed, was discharged. He should have been happy. He should have been ecstatic. The future that lay in front of him should have filled him with hope and optimism.

As he picked up the backpack and computer bag, and exited the condo, however, happiness was not what he was feeling.

Not even close.


	6. Chapter 6

After three days and nights at the Chilton, Mike was bored out of his skull. He'd racked up several hundred dollars worth of charges on movies, room service (he'd eaten every meal in his room since he got there) and the mini bar. He only moved from the bed to answer the door and use the bathroom. The Do Not Disturb sign had taken up permanent residence on the outside door handle.

It felt so fantastic to be alone and unobserved, that he was reluctant for the interlude to come to an end. He couldn't expect Harvey to foot the bill for this forever, though, so on the fourth day he finally took out the laptop and turned it on.

His intention was to look for work. His gaze landed on the shortcut for the livestream site on the desktop.

_Don't do it,_ he lectured himself. _Do not click on it._

The mouse pointer hovered over the icon. Mike bit his lip and clicked. The window for the livestream was grayed out, with a message at the bottom in large red block letters: "This stream has been discontinued. Archives still available for active members."

He began to perspire. Thumbnails of the final seven days of the stream lined the bottom of the screen. The last one, from the day Blake had visited him, had not been deleted.

_Don't do it. Don't look. Do not –_

He clicked the icon and the recording started immediately, from the point where Mike was sprawled on the bed, and Blake was stripping off his clothes.

It felt surreal, watching Blake manipulate him like a boneless doll. Mike winced when Blake drove into him, remembering the searing pain as if he was experiencing it again. His finger hovered over the mouse button, but he couldn't seem to stop watching.

He'd been so out of it when it had happened, that he'd missed, or been able to ignore, some of the more revolting details. Blake kissing his neck, as if they were lovers. Blake running his tongue around Mike's ear. Blake yanking on his hair and smiling confidingly into the camera over his shoulder, as if to say, _Look, everybody. Look at this pathetic, eager slut._

The worst part by far was witnessing the look on his own face when Blake had forced the orgasm out of him. As it turned out, there wasn't a lot of difference between "orgasm face," and "holy fuck, get out of me don't touch me I want to die face."

He'd seen enough. Too much. He slammed the lid shut and hurled the laptop across the room, where it crashed against the wall and fell to the floor in three pieces.

After that, he lined up all the tiny bottles of alcohol from the mini bar in alphabetical order and proceeded to drink his way through them. He passed out somewhere between the vodka and the whiskey.

 

******

 

Mike stayed drunk for two days. He drank, passed out, woke up, phoned room service for more alcohol, and repeated the process.

On the third day, he roused himself, downed some pain relievers, drank three bottles of water, and sent Harvey a text message:

_Take the website down._

He set the phone aside, thought about it for a minute, and then picked it up and sent a second text:

_Please._

Ten minutes later, he received a reply:

_Done._

Then:

_Found a job yet?_

_Mike: Fuck you._

_Harvey: Glad to see you’re bouncing back._

_Mike: Double fuck you._

_Harvey: No time to flirt. Heading to court._

_Mike: May all the verdicts go against you._

_Mike: I’m going to need at least another week here._

_Harvey: You are quite literally the worst investment I ever made._

_Harvey: I’ll let the front desk know._

Mike’s finger hovered over his phone. He’d been about to text, _thanks,_ to Harvey. He shook his head, and instead tapped out: _I need more cash._

_Harvey: Worst. Investment. Ever._

Shit, why was he smiling? Mike forced his face into a scowl, set the phone next to him on the couch, and shoved it as far away as he could.

“What a tool,” he muttered to the empty room.

******

 

Because of the accident, Mike no longer owned a bike. Not only that, he hadn't ridden one for months. He was in reasonably good shape, thanks to regular workouts, but knew he couldn't hold his own at the bike messenger gig, at least not for a while. Still, as far as experience went – the kind you could put on a resume or job application – bike messenger was about all he had. He toyed with the idea of texting Harvey and demanding he buy him a bike, just to see if he would, but decided against it.

Bored, he tried calling Trevor, but the number Mike had for him was disconnected. He thought about trying Jenny's number, and then rejected that idea. He didn't need to be reestablishing contact with people from his fucked up past. What he needed was a paying job in his fucked up present.

He could go back to writing term papers for losers, or taking the LSAT's for losers, or selling drugs, but why go back to that shady existence when he had a chance for a fresh start?

He glanced sadly across the room at the busted laptop, musing that he needed to get a handle on his temper. Happily, he still had the phone, and the phone had internet, so he pulled up Craigslist and began hunting for something, anything, that might pay his bills.

 

******

 

_Mike: I need a reference._

_Harvey: Real or fake?_

_Mike: Fake. Obviously._

_Harvey: Vandelay Industries?_

_Mike: Hilarious._

_Harvey: What are you applying for?_

_Mike: Nothing I’m qualified for._

_Mike: Burger flipper. Waiter. Barista. Bartender. Telemarketer. Temp._

_Harvey: That’s … underwhelming._

_Mike: You want to pay for this hotel room forever?_

_Mike: Reference yes or no?_

_Harvey: Personal or professional?_

_Mike: Both?_

_Harvey: Done._

_Harvey: Good Luck._

******

 

Mike had always suspected that the food service industry was not for him. The only thing that made his new job at Melchior’s All Night Eatery marginally bearable was the knowledge that he was not required to ask anyone if they would like fries with their meal. He started out working days busing tables, but had been promised an upgrade to waiting tables for a few of the overnight shifts every week if he proved reliable.

Since it would be a few weeks before he saw his first paycheck, and it wouldn’t be enough to get him set up in an apartment, he was forced to ask Harvey for more time at the Chilton. When he had texted as much to him, instead of texting back, Harvey phoned him.

“Yeah?” said Mike as he answered the call. For a fraction of a second, he experienced what he knew to be an irrational fear of hearing Harvey’s voice.

“I would like to make a suggestion. Hear me out before you say no.”

Tempting as it was to hang up, Harvey still held too much power over him. Mike wrestled down his resentment. “I’m listening.”

“You can’t stay at the Chilton indefinitely.”

“That was never my intention. Wait. Are you kicking me out?”

“Calm down. No, I'm not kicking you out. However, assuming you got one of those minimum wage jobs you mentioned, how long do you think it will take you to save up enough for an apartment?”

Mike growled softly into the phone.

“Exactly,” said Harvey. “Find a place you think you can afford, and I’ll pay first, last and deposit. After that, you’re on your own.”

“Why would you do that? Is this just another scheme to gain leverage?”

“No.”

Something else occurred to Mike. “Are you going to hide cameras around the place?”

“You have a disturbingly suspicious nature.”

Mike shook his head, even though Harvey couldn’t see him. “You haven’t exactly earned my trust.”

The silence on the other end of the phone stretched until Mike began to wonder if Harvey had hung up on him. Finally, he said, “No, I guess I haven’t. I’d like to try to remedy that.”

Harvey actually sounded regretful, but Mike wasn’t buying it. “I’ll let you help me, because you still owe me. But I choose the apartment, and you don’t get to know where it is. As soon as I can swing the rent on my own, that’s it. We’re done. You’re out of my life. Agreed?”

“Let me know when you’ve found something.”

After they’d hung up, Mike realized that Harvey hadn’t promised anything.

 

******

 

Over the next few weeks, Mike developed a deep appreciation and respect for anyone who spent time working in a restaurant. Busing tables turned out to be hard, physical work which left him sore and exhausted after the end of every shift. As he lounged in his hotel room at night, his leg ached in a way that it hadn’t since right after the accident.

Thankfully, his body gradually adapted to the new reality. In addition, he evidently performed the job well enough that his employer followed through on the promise to move him into an occasional waitstaff position. The downside to that was that when he was scheduled to wait tables, he worked the graveyard shift, from eleven at night to seven in the morning. Even though tips were added to his meager pay, the restaurant was usually slow during those hours, and the customers they did have were more likely than not to be stingy with their gratuities.

He told himself that at least he was earning experience. If he could last, in six months or a year maybe he could move to a classier restaurant where the tips were better. For now, he was determined to keep his head down and do his best.

On his days off, he returned to Brooklyn to look for an apartment. The search was disheartening. Between the high rents, sketchy neighborhoods, ill-tempered landlords, and the credit applications everyone required these days, it was easy to get discouraged. Other people did this, he told himself, and they didn’t have the benefit of a sugar daddy waiting in the wings to pay his way in.

He knew Harvey wasn’t actually his sugar daddy, but it amused him to think of him that way, mainly because it would likely piss Harvey off if he knew. Mike still despised the man, nothing ambiguous about that, but he did miss some of the perks of living with him. When he began to dwell on said perks with too much nostalgia, all it took was the memory of Blake to remind him that his life was better now.

On his fourth trip to Brooklyn, he located a studio apartment he thought he might be able to afford if he cut down on his food intake – and if he stocked up on ramen. It wasn’t furnished, and he was currently lacking furniture, but he supposed he could sleep on the floor for now. Maybe he’d get lucky, and the place wouldn’t turn out to have roaches.

Worried that any delay would cause him to lose out on this prime piece of real estate, he texted Harvey with the dollar amount that he would need to close the deal. Harvey wanted to wire the money into Mike’s bank account, but that presented two problems: no way in hell would Mike give Harvey his account number, if he’d had one, but (problem number two) he’d never gotten around to opening a new account after the accident.

Harvey solved the dilemma by sending Ray to Brooklyn with a cashier’s check, and within in the hour, Mike was signing on the dotted line. Before Ray left, he handed Mike a key, and a slip of paper.

“What’s this?”

“Harvey salvaged some things from your old apartment. They’re in a storage facility not far from here. That’s the address, and the access code to get into the building.”

“What kind of things?”

“Sorry, kid. I don’t know. Stuff you can use in your new place, maybe? I don’t have to be back downtown right away. You want me to drop you there?”

Mike didn’t have anywhere he needed to be for the rest of the day. He was curious to see what items from his previous life Harvey had deemed worth saving. He took the offered ride.

“Hey, Ray?” he said a few minutes later, leaning inside the car from where he stood on the sidewalk in front of the storage facility, “is there any chance that you won’t give Harvey my new address?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you owe me one. For the whole, you know, mowing me down in the street thing.”

Ray’s only answer was an ironic salute. Mike shut the door and watched him pull away from the curb.

 

******

 

Mike already knew that Harvey felt guilt over what had happened with Blake. The hotel room and steady supply of cash were proof of that. He understood that it went deeper than he’d realized the minute he unlocked the padlock on the storage locker.

The unit was much larger than Mike’s meager belongings would have required. His things were in there, shoved neatly against one wall. Most of the room was stuffed with items Mike had never seen before – a sturdy oak bedframe, a box spring mattress set still wrapped in plastic, an entire set of living room furniture, a dining room table with four chairs, boxes of kitchenware, bags of towels and sheets and cleaning supplies.

Mike walked through the room in a daze, inventorying it all, and picturing the tiny studio he’d just rented. Most of the big pieces would have to stay here. As for the rest of it …

He was wondering how much it would cost to rent a truck, and hire someone to drive it for him, since he’d never learned how, when his phone rang, startling him. It was Harvey.

Mike frowned as he answered it. “I suppose you expect me to fall all over myself thanking you.”

“Hardly. The movers should be arriving right about now. Go outside and wave at them, so they know where you are.”

“Movers?”

“Would you rather haul all that new furniture on your back?”

The last thing Mike wanted to appear was gracious, but it was difficult to avoid it in the face of Harvey’s thoughtfulness. “It’s never all going to fit,” he said, struggling to sound sulky.

“Then take what you want and leave the rest for later.”

“I’m not paying the rental on this place.”

“It’s prepaid for a year.”

“Well, I don’t know if – ”

“Mike.” Harvey’s voice was sharp, with underlying notes of weariness and regret. “I don’t know how many ways I can tell you that I’m sorry. If this isn’t enough, I’ll just have to keep trying.”

“Not everything can be solved by a monetary transaction. If you’d realized that six months ago, you’d have nothing to apologize for now.” Without waiting for a reply, he hung up.

 

******

 

Plenty of times during his months at Harvey’s place, Mike had wished for a return to a “normal” life. Now that he had that, he began to wonder how people lived like this, month after month, year after year.

He went to work, dragged himself home after eight or nine or ten hours, put food in his mouth, and planted himself in front of the television that Harvey had bought him, until he fell asleep. In the morning, he got up and did it again.

Once or twice a week, the routine was broken up by an overnight shift at the restaurant. He got to do something on those nights besides pick up other people’s dirty dishes and refill water glasses, but the change in hours played havoc with his sleep schedule. In the beginning, he’d ambitiously planned to stay at Melchior’s for a minimum of one year, to build up experience and hopefully a non-fraudulent reference. As the weeks passed, he trimmed that goal to six months.

His social life was non-existent. Before the accident, he’d had no qualms about picking up random guys for a quick one-off. He’d made no long-term attachments. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to, some day. He’d believed he had plenty of time for that. Now, the thought of bringing someone home, or hooking up in a bar or a club made him physically ill. Of all the damage Harvey’s manipulations had done to him, putting him off sex possibly ranked as the worst.

He worked, and slept, and ate and drank. If his crappy job had paid more, he might have indulged in illegal substances. As it was, he could barely afford the PBR’s and cheap vodka that kept him (marginally) sane when the nightmares came.

If he considered his future at all, it was with a dull fear that this was it. This was his life, and it would never change. When he imagined breaking free of his torpor and working to improve himself, fear stopped him before he could even get started.

He felt well and truly stuck, and couldn’t see any way out.

 

******

 

Mike had been working at Melchior’s for two months when Harvey showed up. He wasn’t surprised to see him. On some level, he’d been expecting this sooner or later. Harvey had been sending him texts nearly every day, asking how he was doing, but Mike had remained stubbornly nonresponsive. It was after midnight, and Mike was waiting tables in the nearly empty diner. He turned around from leaving an order with Gil, the cook, to find that Harvey had seated himself in a booth near the windows.

“What’s good here?” asked Harvey when Mike sidled over to stand near him, pen poised over his order pad.

Mike pretended to consider. “The club sandwich probably won’t kill you.”

“Sounds … adequate. And some coffee.”

“Late night at the office?”

Harvey frowned, and gave his head a quick shake. “I left there five hours ago. I was just feeling restless, and I’d figured I stop by to see how you were getting along.”

“Spendidly, as you can clearly see,” Mike said, despite the meager collection of customers, at least half of whom looked capable of gross mayhem if provoked in the slightest. He waited a few seconds, but Harvey seemed to have run out of things to say. “I’ll go put in your order,” said Mike.

Gil sighed when he got a look at the ticket. “Another fucking club sandwich. Nobody eats omelets anymore?”

Mike ignored him. Gil was never happy with the orders Mike turned in. He suspected Gil didn’t like him, but had never been able to pinpoint why. He just knew that the first time they met, Gil’s expression went from bored to hostile in an instant.

He returned to Harvey’s table with the coffeepot, not bothering to bring cream, and hating that he knew so intimately how Harvey took his coffee. He poured, avoiding eye contact, even though he could feel Harvey’s gaze on him.

Before he could leave, Harvey spoke. “I was hoping we could catch up.”

“I thought we just did.”

“Seriously, can you sit down for a few minutes?”

“I’m working.”

Harvey looked pointedly around the diner. “You look swamped.”

“You ought to watch the sarcasm when I’m standing over you with a pot of hot coffee.”

“Noted. What time do you get off?”

Mike glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got six hours to go.”

Harvey nodded and settled more comfortably in his seat, appearing as if he intended to wait Mike out.

“We’re not big fans of loitering here at Melchior’s All Night Eatery. After you eat, you’ll have to clear out.”

Harvey removed a credit card from his wallet and handed it to Mike. “In that case, why don’t you run me a tab. Whenever my plate is empty, order me something else. Your choice. Surprise me.”

Mike took the card from him with a shrug. He wanted to be angry at Harvey – he _was_ angry at him damn it – but he couldn’t help being curious as well. What would bring him out here in the middle of the night, and cause him to forfeit a whole night’s sleep? Remembering how persuasive Harvey could be, and how many times he had succeeded in manipulating Mike into doing things he never would have considered before meeting him, put Mike on edge throughout the rest of his shift. He vowed to himself that this time, he would refuse anything Harvey suggested.

He pointedly ignored Harvey, except to bring him another plate of food every hour, even though Harvey didn’t eat anything after the club sandwich, which he barely touched. Finally, seven o’clock arrived. Mike sat at a table near the kitchen to count out his tips, grabbed his coat from the back, and briefly considered slipping out into the alley behind the restaurant and avoiding Harvey altogether, but he’d track Mike down eventually. Might as well get it over with.

Grabbing himself a cup of coffee on the way, he returned to Harvey’s booth and sat down across from him. The only sign that Harvey had been up all night were the dark circles under his eyes, and the faint stubble that only made him look more handsome, which infuriated Mike. He kept his expression bland while he waited for Harvey to speak first.

“Did you lose your phone?”

Mike grimaced and reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone, pulled it out and showed it to Harvey.

“So, you’ve seen my texts.”

“Yeah, about that. I really wish you’d stop sending them. Our …” Mike gestured between them. “Whatever this is … our highly toxic and co-dependent association is at an end. I’ve moved on. You should consider doing the same.”

“You’ve moved on? To what? This?” Harvey gave the dingy room a scornful onceover.

“What’s wrong with this? It’s honest work. I get to leave my clothes on, so that’s a plus.”

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course I am!” Mike’s harsh shout attracted a view stares from the borderline-comatose customers and Annie, the daytime waitress who had relieved him. He lowered his voice. “You’re damned right I am. You took advantage of me at my lowest point, exploited me, used me, and then – the truly toxic cherry on the shit cake – sent Blake over to –” He clamped his lips together over the despised word and glared at Harvey.

Frowning down at his folded hands on the tabletop, Harvey said, “My sins are many. I know that. What if I told you I want to atone?”

An incredulous laugh worked its way out of Mike’s throat. “I ain’t God, and I ain’t Jesus. So … take it up with your priest, I guess.”

Harvey’s hands twitched, as if he’d had to hold himself back from reaching across the table to touch Mike. “I need you to forgive me,” he whispered. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and Mike cynically wondered if this show of tortured remorse was nothing more than an act.

“Is that so? I, on the other hand, need to nurse my grudge. Some days, that’s all that keeps me going.”

The cheek muscle jumped again. Harvey’s dark eyes grew even bleaker. “While you’re nursing that grudge, will you do one thing for me?”

“You can always ask.”

“Just think about it. Think about what it would take for you to forgive me. Let me know, and if it’s within my power, I’ll do it.” He paused. “Can you do that?” His voice dropped lower, and was now nearly inaudible. “Please?”

Pleading? That was new.

Mike gulped down the rest of his lukewarm coffee. “I’ll think it over. If I come up with an answer, I’ll text you. If you don’t hear from me, that’s it. No more contact. Deal?”

Harvey hesitated, looking for a moment as if he intended to argue, and then gave a sharp nod. “Deal.”

Mike handed him his credit card slip to sign. “I added a generous tip. Hope that’s okay.”

With the corners of his mouth tucked in, Harvey signed the receipt without a word of protest.

 

******

 

Mike slept until noon. He hadn’t meant to give Harvey’s request a second thought, but his subconscious evidently had other ideas. He woke up knowing exactly what Harvey had to do to earn his forgiveness. He reached for his phone and tapped out a text to Harvey:

_My terms – you, on camera, face showing, naked, one orgasm._

If he was expecting a reply back right away, he was disappointed. His phone remained quiet for the rest of the day, and he was feeling rather smug and pleased with himself. Harvey did not truly want to atone (and what an odd word choice). He’d wanted Mike’s forgiveness, but not enough to work for it.

Then, around seven o’clock, Harvey’s reply finally came, leaving Mike stunned.

_I accept your terms._


	7. Chapter 7

Mike was scheduled for the morning and lunch shifts the following day. They'd arranged the previous night for Harvey to stop by during Mike's mid-morning break to hammer out the details. They might have done that last night, but Mike had wanted to take some time to consider all the angles and loopholes, to make sure that Harvey didn't try to lawyer his way out of what he'd agreed to.

"Let's go outside," said Mike, intercepting Harvey at the front door of the diner. He didn't want any of his co-workers or customers to eavesdrop on their conversation, especially not creepy Gil. They'd had a nice stretch of weather the past week, and the morning air felt pleasantly cool. Mike walked halfway down the block and leaned one shoulder on the side of the building. Facing him, Harvey mirrored his pose.

"My place is currently camera free," said Harvey. "I had to have the wall and ceiling lamp repaired."

Mike hoped it had cost a lot. "Not my problem."

"No. I suppose not.” He regarded Mike for a moment. “Your phone has an excellent video feature."

"So?"

"So, I'm asking if you'll come over and do the honors of recording me."

"Recording? You're not doing this live?"

"I can, if that's what you want. You're in the driver's seat here."

Mike thought about it for a minute. "No. That's fine. I'll record it. Then I can upload it to the internet when and where I choose."

For a few seconds, Harvey appeared as if he wanted to argue with Mike, but then he sighed and gave a fatalistic shrug. "Agreed. Just know that if you decide to completely destroy my reputation, I'll be less available for cash transfusions to shore up your life."

"Pretty fancy way of saying, 'screw with me and the gravy train stops.' Except I don’t consider any of this gravy."

"No?"

"No."

"What, then?"

Mike shook his head, wearying of the pointless back and forth. Time to wrap up the negotiations. "When?"

"Tomorrow is Friday. Let's say Saturday afternoon? If you're not working, that is."

"I get off at two. So how about … _you_ get off at five-ish."

"Clever. Five it is."

Mike didn't think there was anything more to discuss, but Harvey hesitated. Mike gave him an impatient glare and made a show of checking his nonexistent watch.

Harvey's mouth curled down at one corner. "We should talk about the terms."

"I thought we just did."

"I'm agreeing to this with the understanding that I'll receive something from you."

"Oh, right, right. You want atonement." Mike spoke the weird sneeringly, while making air quotes.

"And? So? Once I go through with this, will you offer that? I’m talking tangibles. What do I get in return?"

They had arrived at the question that had kept Mike tossing and turning for much of the night. He wasn't any closer to an answer now than he had been then. He stared unhappily back at Harvey. "I don't know. No guarantees. I want to see if you'll actually go through with it first, and then I'll make up my mind. What, uh, what were you hoping for?"

"A reset. A do-over." Harvey scowled, as if it pained him to be making this admission. "I would like to ask you out, and we can pretend that the accident never happened. I want to go back to the beginning and get it right this time."

Mike squinted at him, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Wait. After everything that's happened – everything that you _caused_ to happen – after all of that, you think you can just wipe the slate clean in one afternoon?"

"Well, yes. I thought that was implied."

"Oh my God. You are really incredible, you know that? Forgiveness is one thing. Forgetting all that shit you pulled? That is something else entirely." He waited, and when Harvey said nothing, added, "Tell me the truth. Is this just about you trying to get in my pants again?"

"That's part of it. Hey, don't look so offended. We're damn good together and you know it."

Mike turned to stare down the block, shaking his head. "If I say no to that, are you going to back out of the deal?" He looked back at Harvey.

Harvey's jaw worked, drawing Mike's gaze to the beautiful, lean lines of his face. "No. Sure, I’d be disappointed, but if this will help you move past what happened – what I did to you – I'll go through with it. Whatever happens after that is entirely up to you."

Harvey waited a beat, and then without another word, he strode off down the sidewalk. Mike watched him until he disappeared around the corner.

 

******

 

When Mike left work Saturday afternoon, he went home, showered off the sweat that came with a busy weekend breakfast and brunch service, and changed his clothes. Harvey had texted him to let him know he was sending a cab to pick him up. Was he supposed to feel grateful for that? He did feel grateful, which irritated him, so much so that he silently brooded for much of the trip to Manhattan, despite the chatty cabbie’s attempts to engage him in conversation.

The concierge of Harvey’s building paid the fare and let Mike into the building.

He began to perspire as the elevator made its way up to the penthouse. It felt strange and unsettling to be returning to the scene of the crime, as it were.

Harvey met him at the front door and ushered him inside. He was wearing a robe, knotted loosely around his waist, and nothing underneath, as far as Mike could tell.

“Looks like you’re ready to get right to it,” Mike observed. As he came closer, he could smell scotch on Harvey's breath. For courage? The notion sent a shot of something that felt disconcertingly like pity through him. He ordered himself to stay strong. Harvey had agreed to this, and he damned well deserved it.

Harvey only grunted in reply, and led Mike to the bedroom – Harvey’s bedroom, not the spare one that Mike had occupied. The door to that room was closed, for which Mike could only be thankful. Just being inside the condo was stirring up memories he wasn’t ready to face yet.

“How do you want me?” asked Harvey, his gaze on Mike unflinching.

Mike fumbled for the phone in his pocket as he considered the question. “I don’t know. On your back, I guess. Full frontal works.”

He watched as Harvey dropped the robe and arranged himself on the bed, planting one foot on the mattress, and leaving his other leg stretched out in front of him. Mike’s mouth went dry at what he guessed was an intentionally seductive pose.

No way, he told himself. He wasn't here to be seduced. Today, he was the fly on the wall, nothing more. Holding up his phone, he switched on the video camera and gestured at Harvey with one hand, indicating that he should begin.

Harvey arched one eyebrow. "Any requests?"

Mike shook his head. "Our deal is, you come for the camera. How you get there is entirely up to you."

"For the camera, huh? I'd rather come for you." He circled his cock with one palm and lifted it like an offering.

With lips pinched together in what he hoped passed for disapproval, Mike shifted his gaze to the view of Harvey in the rectangle of his phone, and kept it there. "Whatever floats your boat, big guy. As long as you're ready for your close up."

"It might help if you talked dirty to me."

"I'm not going to do that."

"I helped you through your first time." Harvey stroked himself lazily. "Come on. Be a pal and get me in the mood."

"I'm not your pal." He didn't add the obvious observation: Harvey was already clearly in the mood. The sight of Harvey's thick, hard, beautiful cock being worked inside the circle of his fist was rapidly getting Mike in the mood as well. He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would calm his dick down. Predictably, it didn't.

“Do you know,” said Harvey conversationally, while his hand continued its deliberate movements, “that I used to watch you while I was at work?”

Mike had assumed as much. He didn't bother replying.

“I pushed back more than one client meeting because I couldn’t tear myself away from the sight of you, and you made me so fucking hard.” His hand sped up slightly, even as his tiny, ironic smile remained in place. “I thought the best day of my life was the day I brought you home from the hospital. Then you invited me into your bed, and that day shot right to the top of the charts.”

Mike’s brow wrinkled. Was this supposed to be some kind of a declaration? “Stop talking, or I’ll dub over your soliloquy with terrible porno music.”

Harvey’s smile slipped, and some complex mixture of emotions darkened his eyes. “That’s fine. As long as you hear me.”

_Shut up,_ Mike wanted to say. _Stop trying to make me feel something for you._

What he did say was, “You’re awful at this. No wonder you recruited other people to be on camera.”

He hadn’t meant it as a challenge, but evidently Harvey took it that way. One eyebrow arched, and he reached for the nightstand drawer. Mike’s mouth went dry as Harvey took out lube, and a blue dildo that he recognized.

Bending his knees and lifting his legs, Harvey used one arm to hold them up, putting his ass on display for the camera. Using his free hand, he deftly uncapped the lube, squirted some on his fingers, and probed his hole.

Watching Harvey’s long finger disappear inside himself, Mike nearly dropped his phone. Feeling a little unsteady on his feet, he dragged a chair closer and sat, zooming in on Harvey’s ass. “Fuck yourself,” he murmured before he even knew he was going to speak. “Fuck yourself with the dildo.”

With a look of intense concentration on his face, Harvey inserted the dildo, grimacing in obvious pain as he pushed it deeper. Mike couldn’t decide if he should keep the camera focused on his ass, or his face, and began to understand the need for two or more cameras. If he'd had that, he could edit the footage to show the blue object obscenely opening up Harvey’s ass, and cut to reaction shots of his furrowed brows and tightly compressed lips. Better sound production would pick up his strained grunts and hisses.

As he realized where his thoughts were heading, Mike gave his head a rough shake. Who did he think he was, Francis Ford Copulate? Martin Pornsese? Alfred Hiscock? A half-hysterical laugh burst from his throat.

Harvey’s expression turned quizzical and faintly annoyed. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“What? No.” Mike cleared his throat and got command of himself. “That’s perfect. Keep doing that.”

The dildo plunged in and out more quickly, and Harvey’s hips jerked in rhythm with it. His next words had a breathless quality to them. “Why don’t you put down that camera and join me?”

Surprisingly, Mike actually found himself tempted. For the first time since he’d fled from Harvey’s place, the notion of sex did not repel him, or cause him to break out in a cold sweat. That’s not what he’d come here for, though.

"You agreed to this," he reminded Harvey. "Stop putting up a fight or trying to argue your way out of it, and it will be over before you know it."

"Even sperm donors get porn mags to help them over the top."

Exasperated with Harvey's griping, Mike stood, unfastened his jeans, and pushed them halfway down his thighs. "There. That doing anything for you?"

Harvey sucked in a sharp breath. "Well, look at you. You're hard for me." He removed the dildo and resumed stroking himself. "Take it out. Show it to me."

"That would be a no."

"Come on. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

Harvey's arrogant demands lit a malicious, vindictive spark inside of Mike. He changed the focus of the camera from Harvey's cock to his face. "Beg for it."

"What?"

"You heard me. You want it? Beg for it."

At first, it seemed that Harvey would remain stubborn. Mike supposed he was probably within his rights. After all, this had not been part of the deal. Then Harvey began his whispered pleas, so low that Mike had to strain to hear him.

"Please, Mike. I need this. Let me see you. Let me touch you. Please. _Please please please._ " He stroked frantically while his eyes echoed the plea.

Mike crimped his lips together. "You're just … God, you're so full of shit. You'd do anything to get your way."

" _Please. Please. Please._ "

Harvey's eyes were closed now, and really, what was the point of that if he was begging for a visual? Maybe memory served just as well as the real thing. Whatever the case, in less than a minute, his back arched, his head tipped back, and his mouth went slack. When he started to come, Mike nearly dropped the phone.

He was so fucking gorgeous.

Mike used both hands to hold the phone steady, zooming out and taking a couple of steps back to get a full body view of the fireworks. Harvey came and came, jerking and shaking and biting his lip. When he'd wrung himself dry, he collapsed flat on the bed, breathing hard, eyes still shut, forehead creased as if he was in pain.

Mike turned off the camera but didn't turn away. He took his time to look his fill, waging an internal fight with himself against the overwhelming urge to join Harvey on the bed, kneel between his legs, and lick the cum from his belly.

Shit. He needed to get out of here. He'd gotten what he came for and if he hung around any longer, he was going to do something he’d regret. With one last, longing look at Harvey, he pulled up his jeans, turned and bolted.

 

**One Week Later**

 

Mike still hadn’t uploaded the video file.

He’d gone so far as to search for possible sites to post it to, but hadn’t yet unleashed it upon the world.

He’d watched it plenty of times himself. He’d worn out his palm and his dick getting off to the sight of Harvey getting off. He’d left the sound intact. It turned him on almost as much as the visual, hearing Harvey’s arguments, and demands, and finally, best of all, his pleading.

He continued to receive texts from Harvey, several each day, asking why he’d run out so fast, wondering when he could see him again, inquiring about his job, and his apartment, and offering to send him more money if he needed it.

Harvey never asked about the video.

Mike didn’t reply to his texts.

He went to work. Went home. Ate. Fapped. Slept. Went to work.

He never wanted to see Harvey again.

He craved his presence, his touch, his voice.

He was pretty sure he was losing his mind.

 

******

 

The bell dinged five times in rapid succession, jerking Mike out of his half-dozing state where he leaned against the wall near the beverage station.

“Order up, dumbass!” barked Gil.

Mike stumbled over to grab two plates filled with fluffy omelets, toast and bacon.

“You’re not getting paid to sleep on the job,” Gil hissed at him.

Mike ignored him and went to deliver the food. It wasn’t his fault he was tired, he told himself. This was his third overnight shift this week. Tonight, it had followed a day shift which ended at two. A late afternoon thunderstorm had rolled through Brooklyn, making sleep an impossibility. Now, here it was, three in the morning, and he didn’t know if he was going to make it until seven without winding up face down in somebody’s Denver scramble.

If Gil would stop being such a dickhead to him, the shift might be bearable.  But Gil and dickhead were evidently synonymous. Mike had spent more time than he cared to admit trying to puzzle out why Gil treated him the way he did. Eventually, the thought had occurred to him that maybe Gil had been a paid subscriber to Mike’s livestream, and either resented its cancellation, or resented having to work alongside someone like Mike.

He had no proof to back up these conclusions, which were mainly the result of his rampant paranoia. He wasn’t about to ask Gil for confirmation.

After delivering the food, he grabbed the coffeepot and returned to top off the customers’ mugs. One of them, a twenty-something guy with a pretentiously styled beard and an arrogant smirk gestured at his plate.

“I said no spinach,” he told Mike.

He wanted to tell him to just eat around it, but the man was putting out some seriously entitled vibes. Mike forced a tight smile, picked up the plate, and went to break the news to Gil. He walked into the kitchen and let out a slow breath.

“Uh, Gil? Table three’s Melchior Special was supposed to be without spinach.”

“Then you should have said something when you put the order in.”

“I did.” In his current state of exhaustion, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he had, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Gil.

“You calling me a liar?” Gil stepped away from the grill, brandishing a greasy spatula.

“What? No. Look, he doesn’t want the spinach. Can you just make him another one?”

Gil shifted from one foot to the other, looking for several seconds as if he was about to launch himself at Mike and do violence upon him with the spatula. Then he shook his head, sneering. “I told the boss hiring you was a mistake.”

Mike was inclined to agree. He wasn’t doing as bad a job as Gil implied, but he did wish that Melvin (son of Melchior) had passed on him all those weeks ago. He would have had a while longer to luxuriate at the Chilton while continuing his job search. Maybe he would have lucked into something less awful.

To be fair, though, Melchior’s might have been bearable if not for Gil’s hostile presence. It really was the people you worked with, he mused.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Mike realized he’d zoned out again, and Gil’s glare now held a dollop of puzzlement.

“What? Nothing.” _Everything._ “So … where are we on that omelet?”

Gil shook his head, dismissing Mike, and turned back to the grill. “I’m on it. Get out of my kitchen before I shove this spatula up your nasty little ass.”

Mike was only too happy to comply. He returned to the dining room, scanned the tables to ensure that the handful of customers were happy, and satisfied himself that everything was under control for the moment. Except for no-spinach guy, who was shooting him looks which rivaled Gil’s for the level of hostility.

 

******

 

By four-thirty, no-spinach and his friend extra-cheese had finished eating, paid up, and departed, leaving Mike a whopping five percent tip. The last late-night customer, an older woman who had earlier sent Mike around to all the other tables searching for the apple preserves she preferred on her rye toast, gathered up her magazines, stuffed them into her already over-stuffed tote bag, and exited into the early morning darkness.

Mike let out a relieved sigh. With any luck, the pre-work crowd wouldn’t start arriving for at least half an hour, and he could take an actual break. He poured himself a mug of coffee and collapsed into one of the empty booths. When he felt himself nodding off again, he pulled out his phone and cycled through his handful of pointless, time-wasting apps.

Glancing around to make sure that no one had entered the diner, and that Gil was still safely back in the kitchen, he muted the sound and opened the video file of Harvey. Even without sound, it was compelling viewing. His heartrate accelerated as he watched Harvey stroking himself. When he picked up the dildo –

“Slacking on the job?”

Somehow, Harvey had snuck into the diner and seated himself across from Mike.

He started guiltily, and pressed all the wrong things on his phone, trying to halt the video and shut it down. He accidentally unmuted it, and Harvey’s pleading voice drifted out of the tiny speakers.

“Damn it,” he muttered. He got his fingers to cooperate, and the incriminating noises stopped filling the air between them. He turned the phone screen-side down.

They regarded one another.

“That,” said Mike, “wasn’t what you think it was.”

Harvey gave him the look he remembered too well: lips pressed together, dark eyes filled with scorn and wordlessly judging him to be the biggest idiot on the planet.

Mike’s dick twitched inside his pants.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice cracking.

“You haven’t answered my texts.”

Mike searched for some of that good old righteous anger but found only weariness. “I didn’t have anything to say.” He shrugged. “Can’t we just move past this, take our diverging paths, and get on with our lives?”

Harvey tapped his long index finger against Mike’s phone, which lay on the table between them. “Have you uploaded this yet?”

A wave of wholly irrational guilt assailed Mike. “I’m getting around to it.”

“How many times have you watched it?”

Mike considered the best lie to tell, decided he was too tired for lies, and settled on the truth. “So, so many.”

Harvey’s chuckle sounded more melancholy than amused. “I get it. I saved some of your greatest hits,” he confessed. “It helps.”

“Helps?” Mike’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Leaning forward, Harvey captured Mike’s wrist in one hand, and whispered, “You know damn well what I’m talking about. I miss you.” He gestured at the phone. “And you clearly miss me. Don’t try to deny it.”

Mike yanked free of Harvey’s grasp and crossed his arms across his chest. “I categorically deny it.”

“Why haven’t you uploaded that video yet?”

_Good question_.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not an asshole?”

“Ah. I see. Implying that I am?”

Mike gaped at him. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you did not know this about yourself?”

“You’ve misjudged me.”

“Misjudged? _Misjudged?_ ” Incredulity caused Mike’s voice to squeak. “I’m … I’m … I don’t even know how to respond to that. You fucked with my life. You made me do things. You … you ….” _You set Blake on me._ He couldn’t say it out loud, but Harvey’s stricken expression told him he knew what Mike was leaving unsaid.

“I may have made some mistakes,” said Harvey, “but let’s review the facts, shall we? I paid your medical bills.”

“And forced me to pay you back.”

“Let me finish. I paid your bills. I gave you a place to stay. I fed you, provided an excellent physical therapist. The debt you owed … I didn’t give a damn whether you paid it back or not. I only used it as a pretext to keep you close to me. Now tell me this: was it so awful? If we leave out how badly it ended, can you point to one thing about our months together that you truly hated?”

“Everything. I hated everything.”

Even Mike heard the lie in his words. He’d chafed under Harvey’s control, but the truth was, he'd been ridiculously pampered. Performing for the cameras had brought a thrill he’d never expected to feel. And Harvey in his bed … he could almost toss every remaining scrap of pride out the window for the chance to have that again.

“You’re angry about Blake,” said Harvey. “You should be. I won’t try to excuse my role in what happened. But do you know what I think?"

"Oh, please. Enlighten me."

"I think what makes you angriest is that I forced you to learn things about yourself that you don't want to admit.”

“Here we go. Here’s the part where you tell me you know me better than I know myself.”

“What I do know is that you loved having the cameras turned on you. You wallowed in what you tried to convince yourself was shame and humiliation. Maybe that’s what it felt like to you, or more accurately, what you expected it to feel like, but you soaked up every second of it like a thirsty sponge.”

"Goddamn it, Harvey, I – " He broke off.

Gil was standing near the cash register, listening avidly to their argument. Following Mike's gaze, Harvey stiffened.

"This is a private conversation," he snapped.

_Shit. Just perfect_. As if Gil didn't despise Mike enough already. "No, it's fine," he said, standing up. "We're done talking. My break's over, and I need to get back to work."

"We're not done," Harvey objected. He expelled a frustrated sigh. "Meet me later. Call me at work and I'll take you to lunch."

Mike would have refused, but he was too anxious to get Harvey out the door. He didn't care for the looks Gils was shooting them. "Fine, Whatever. I'll call you."

Harvey stood, took a step toward Mike, and seemed to think better of it. "Promise?"

"Yeah, yeah. I promise."

Harvey nodded once, as if he didn't quite believe him, but turned toward the door. He had to dodge an incoming customer on his way out, and then he was gone. The customer seated himself, and Mike handed him a menu before moving away to make a fresh pot of coffee.

Instead of retreating to the kitchen, Gil strolled closer to Mike, smirking. "That was the guy, wasn't it?" he murmured. "The one who fucked you so hard, but wouldn't show his face." His grin widened. "Daddy."

Mike's jaw tightened. _Paranoia confirmed._ "So, you recognized me. I did wonder why you were such as ass to me from day one. You're wrong about my friend, though. That wasn't the guy." He wasn’t sure why he was protecting Harvey – or, more concerningly, why he had called him his friend.

"Bullshit. It was him. I recognized the back of his head."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? I've got eyes."

Mike pretended to think for a moment. “Okay. Yeah, I guess I can see the resemblance. Maybe they go to the same barber. That’s not him, though.”

Gil grunted once, perhaps signaling his willingness to let it drop. He stared at Mike, gaze raking up and down his body. "I don't usually pay for my porn, but you were worth every penny." He took a step forward, so close that Mike could smell the grease and sweat on him. "Speaking of which, you shut the site down so fast. I never got my full months’ worth."

Mike inched backwards. "Take it up with the site administrator."

“I’m taking it up with you.”

Mike glanced past Gil at the waiting customer. “I need to go take care of this guy.”

“You owe me ten dollars.”

He’d made less than that in tips this shift, but it might be worth it to give it to Gil if he’d just leave him alone. “If I pay you, will you stop being such an ass? In perpetuity?”

Gil frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah. I’m down with that.”

Mike dragged a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket and counted them. Eight dollars. His food budget for the next few days. He growled internally and thrust the money at Gil. “Here. Can I owe you two dollars?”

Gil actually smiled, making himself appear less homicidal, which was disconcerting. He snatched the money out of Mike’s hand. “Sure. Unless you, uh, want to give me a private show instead?”

“That is not going to happen.”

Gil clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to stagger. “Had to ask, right? Hey, maybe you could introduce me to that friend of yours instead?”

“Again, no.” Sudden jealousy burned inside him at Gil’s request, which … what was that even about?

“Ah, well. Story of my life. But listen, if you ever decide to get back into the porn business, let me know. I could be, like, your number one fan. Or –” His eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers a couple of times. “Maybe you could hook me up with some producers or something? I could do what you did. How hard could it be? I could sure use the extra cash.”

“Back away, Gil. Back away.”

 

******

 

By the time Mike was finished with his shift and on his way home, he knew he would never share the video file of Harvey with the world. The decision made no logical sense. Harvey had agreed to this particular form of retribution, and Mike had been carrying enough anger to go through with it.

Had been. Past tense.

Where had all that righteous rage gone? God, he really was fucked up in the head. Maybe Harvey had been right about him, had read him accurately right from the beginning. That was a depressing thought.

Depressing, and weirdly … stimulating.

Ugh.

At home, showering off the stink of his shift, he found himself unconsciously performing for a camera that wasn’t there anymore.

Yup. Definitely all fucked up in the head.

 

******

 

A couple of hours earlier, he’d had no intention of making good on his promise to Harvey. He’d intended to sleep for ten or twelve hours, and then enjoy a rare two days off. Okay, maybe “enjoy” was not the right word, but the thought of those two days of freedom did not suck.

The problem was, when he lay down on his bed, even tired as he was, sleep eluded him. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Harvey had said. Added to that, he was hungry, and he’d given all his food money to Gil.

He stared up at the ceiling, debating. Harvey had offered him lunch. The idea of a decent meal tempted him, but the idea of facing Harvey again so soon did not.

_Ha. Liar._

He should probably warn him about Gil’s suspicions, he rationalized, so he’d stay away from the diner. This warning could have been accomplished with a text or a phone call. When he lifted his phone to do just that, he found his traitorous finger tapping out an entirely different message:

_I’ll be downstairs at noon. No hotdogs or bagels._

If a text message could sound relieved, Harvey’s did.

_Harvey: Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is halfway finished. I'll try to stick to the schedule and post Saturday, but it may take a bit longer than that.


	8. Chapter 8

They walked in silence to a steakhouse that had been in the same location for over thirty years, but which Mike had never visited before. Inside, they were seated at a booth with cracked burgundy leather seats, and Mike carefully left plenty of space between himself and Harvey. The waiter took their orders, and then left them alone.

“I’m not going to upload the video,” Mike announced.

Harvey was quiet for half a minute, absorbing this news. “Why not? We had a deal, didn’t we?”

Mike wasn’t about to admit it, but he’d come to the realization that he didn’t want people like Gil drooling over Harvey. He didn’t want _anybody_ drooling over Harvey. Ideally, he would stop drooling over Harvey himself, but apparently, he was the world’s biggest idiot.

Harvey was still waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know. Maybe I figured I might need to guilt you into another loan one day soon, so why kill the goose?”

“The what?”

“With the … you know … golden eggs?” He had no intention of asking for a loan, but the lie came more easily than the truth.

“Hm. Well, it wouldn’t be a loan, in any case. If you ever need anything – and I do mean _anything_ – I want you to come to me. You got that?”

Mike had to look away from Harvey’s intense gaze. How odd that they had arrived here, in a place where Harvey insisted on throwing money at him, when not so long ago he'd spent part of each day tallying up Mike's debt to him. He attempted to shake off the sense of disorientation, with only partial success.

“Got it," said Mike. "You’re welcome, by the way.”

He looked down at his wrist when Harvey grabbed hold of it. Harvey had done the same thing from across the table at Melchior’s. As much as Mike tried to hide the fizz of pleasure the touch caused, a visible shiver coursed through him, which had Harvey’s eyes darkening.

“You want me to thank you?” asked Harvey. “I suppose I should be grateful, but I don’t give a damn about that video. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining it to my managing partner, if she ever learned about it, but it would have blown over eventually. What concerns me the most is that you’re apparently going back on your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not – ”

“The deal was,” said Harvey, talking over him, “I perform for the camera, and you forgive me.”

“I’m perfectly aware what the deal was. It’s not that simple.”

Harvey spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable, as if speaking to a child. “I asked you what it would take. You gave me your terms. We agreed. I did my part.”

“Why is my forgiveness so important to you?”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

Whatever the fuck that meant, he thought obtusely.

“Look, Harvey, I’ve made up my mind. I’m not sharing that video, and I don’t owe you an explanation why. As for the rest of, I’ll try. I’m trying. Your record of pulling fucked up shit doesn’t help your case, and I understand that it’s not what you want to hear, but maybe you can’t come back from all the things you’ve done. Maybe you don’t get your redemption arc. Maybe you’re just a bad man. Full stop.”

Harvey’s jaw worked as he appeared to have difficulty swallowing Mike’s blunt words. Mike half-expected him to storm out of the restaurant in anger, but he didn’t. If not for the prime rib and loaded baked potato on the way, Mike might walked out himself. He was looking forward to a decent meal, though, and so held his ground, even as he considered pithy exit lines to be delivered after dessert was served, and which would put a final, unambiguous period to their time together.

Their drinks arrived, giving him another reason to stay.

Perhaps not caring for the silence that had fallen between them, Harvey filled it with small talk.

“Do you like this restaurant?”

“You mean, like, from a professional point of view? Yes, it’s far nicer than Melchior’s. I bet the tips are better, too.” He gave Harvey a cynical smile. “Why? You think I should apply for a job here?”

“I do not.”

“You think I’m not good enough?”

“That,” said Harvey, taking a quick swallow of scotch, “is the opposite of what I think.”

_Huh._

Mike was trying to come up with a response to that, but the arrival of their food derailed that line of thought. He attacked his meal with all the carnivorous desperation of a starved hyena, ignoring Harvey until the worst of his hunger pangs were satisfied. When he finally slowed down, he found Harvey’s baffled gaze fixed on him.

“I don’t remember you being so … voracious.”

“Ramen doesn’t quite hit the spot like this stuff does.”

"Surely you're eating more than that. Did no one ever teach you the basics of good nutrition?"

"Spoken like a guy with money to burn."

“Seriously, Mike, this worries me. Are they not giving you enough hours at the restaurant?”

Mike’s mouth was stuffed with food, and he nearly choked on the laugh that bubbled up. He took a moment to chew and swallow. “I worked fifty-two hours last week. What more do you want me to do?” He took another bite, ignoring the queasy feeling brought on by eating too much, too fast. “Oh, I know. Maybe I’ll get a second job.” Dragging the last bite of prime rib through a smear of sour cream glistening on his plate, he wolfed it down. “There you go. Problem solved. Now, what’s for dessert?”

Harvey eyed him somberly. “Order whatever you want.”

Harvey hadn’t finished his own steak, seeming more interested in his glass of scotch. He offered the plate to Mike, who hesitated briefly, only for form’s sake, before pulling it a closer and going to work on it. Dimly, he supposed he should be embarrassed by his … what had Harvey called it? His voraciousness. The food tasted too good for him to worry about that, and this was Harvey, after all. It was hard to be embarrassed in front of the man who had coached you through proper dildo usage in front of an unknown number of anonymous viewers.

Mike ordered dessert, and they waited in silence for it to arrive. Harvey seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. Probably something to do with his law practice, Mike assumed, and so was surprised at Harvey’s sudden question.

“Does your new place have wi-fi?”

“What? I don’t know. I can’t afford it anyway, and I …” He frowned, remembering. “I sort of broke that laptop you gave me, so it doesn’t matter.” Plus, he had unlimited data on the phone Harvey was still paying for. He decided not to bring that up.

“You should have said something. I’ll replace it for you, and see what I can do about getting you set up with wi-fi.”

Mike stared at him, and then laughed. “Oh my god. It’s true.”

“What’s true?”

“You are my sugar daddy.”

Instead of laughing or acting offended, Harvey remained serious. “Not really. The term implies an exchange of sorts. A transaction.”

“That’s not what you’re after?”

“No.”

“Gonna have to call bullshit on that.”

“Okay. I suppose I deserved that.”

Mike tilted his head to one side, as if to get a better look at Harvey. “Are you okay? You seem a little off your game today.”

“I’m fine.” He signaled the waiter for the check. “Finish your … chocolate sludge cake, or whatever that is. I need to get back to the office.”

Feeling dismissed, and not liking it – and hating that he didn’t like it – Mike polished off his lava cake. His stomach ached from all the food, but at least it should hold him for the rest of the day.

A thin stack tens and twenties appeared in front of him. “What’s that?”

“Cab fare home, and enough to keep you fed for the rest of the week.”

Pride insisted Mike should refuse the money. On the other hand, he'd already let Harvey buy him a meal, plus lingering hunger might spoil his days off. He managed a scowl, which was entirely for show, and pocketed the money.

 

******

 

Two hours after Mike got home, someone buzzed his apartment. He let them in the building and went back to the movie he was watching. Someone was probably visiting one of the neighbors. Or stalking them. Or robbing them. Whatever.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have buzzed them in. When someone knocked loudly on his door half a minute later, he absolutely knew he shouldn't have buzzed them in. A look through the peephole showed only the top of a blue head of hair. That didn’t look too threatening (and more importantly, it wasn’t Harvey), so he opened the door.

A young woman who barely came up to his shoulders, wearing a t-shirt with rolled sleeves that exposed impressively muscular biceps, held a box of what appeared to be groceries.

“I … think you have the wrong apartment.”

“Mike Ross?”

He nodded warily.

“This are for you.” She held the box out to him and used her chin to indicate a delivery receipt on top of the box. “Well? It’s all paid for. You just need to sign the slip. I’ve got other deliveries to make.”

They had to be from Harvey, he realized. He might have refused the delivery, but figured that would just complicate things for the young woman. He signed, took the box from her, and said, “Hang on a second.” After depositing the box on his kitchen counter, he fumbled in his wallet for a tip, and handed her ten dollars, the smallest bill he had.

Her face lit up with a smile. “Hey, thanks man. Have a great day.”

When he dug through the box, he realized it wasn’t simply filled with groceries. It had come from one of those meal preparation companies that seemed to be sprouting up like mushrooms all over the city. He wanted to feel resentful that even in his generosity, Harvey was forcing him to work for his dinner, but had to admit that it was a thoughtful gesture.

He had nothing else to do that evening besides sprawl on his bed and watch movies he’d seen before, so he separated the pre-packaged ingredients for the first meal and set to work cooking.

 

******

 

The stir-fried chicken would have tasted even better with a glass of wine or a beer, he decided, but it wasn’t bad. Better than Hot Pockets. Or ramen. He was halfway through his plate when the buzzer sounded again. 

“Delivery for Mike Ross,” crackled through the speaker.

More meals? He supposed that could only be a good thing, if a bit of overkill on Harvey’s part. He buzzed them in. This time, he opened his door to a man wearing the uniform of a local messenger company. He carried a small, sealed box, which, upon closer inspection …

“No fucking way. Is that an iPad?”

“Top of the line.” He thrust a clipboard at Mike. “Sign here, please.”

Mike signed. “Thanks. Uh, hold on a second. Let me give you a – ”

“No need. The buyer took care of the delivery charge already, plus a generous tip. You have a nice day, sir.”

The delivery man left, and Mike was left standing in his living-slash-bedroom, admiring this latest extravagance from Harvey. “Sugar daddy came _through_ ,” he whispered, trying to ignore the pleasurable warmth filling him at the thought of Harvey doing this for him. He sat on the bed and tore into the box, ready to play with his new toy.

Except, he had no wi-fi. Well, it was still a nice gesture. He took it out of the box, thinking he could at least admire and caress it. A folded piece of paper lay right on top of the iPad, and turned out to be a handwritten note on Pearson Specter Litt letterhead.

_"I added this to our plan. Unlimited data. I'm texting you two links. Click on the first one first. The second one is active between seven at night and seven in the morning."_

That was … weirdly specific. He checked the time. It was seven-thirty.

The iPad was already charged. He powered it up and saw that he'd received the promised text message, which included two links and a password.

He clicked on the first link, which didn't require a password. A video clip from what looked like the interior of a warehouse under construction filled the screen. Four men clustered together in the middle of the shot. Three of them wore masks. The camera zoomed in, and now he recognized the unmasked man as a struggling Blake, who was being held by two of the other men.

"Oh … shit," muttered Mike. What the hell was this?

As he watched, the third masked man landed a vicious blow to Blake's mid-section. He probably would have doubled over if his captors had not kept him upright. The expression on his face was one of sheer, incredulous terror.

The beating began in earnest. The three men took turns holding Blake up, punching his face and stomach and eventually, when he collapsed to the cement floor, kicking him in the back and kidneys.

Mike unmuted the sound. Weak, gurgling screams blared from the speakers. He re-muted it, beginning to feel queasy. Blake deserved it, but _damn_. Was he about to witness a snuff film? Would Harvey actually take it that far? His heart began to thud in alarm.

Finally, the beating stopped. Blake appeared to still be breathing. This was confirmed when he rose to his knees and vomited (mostly) off-camera. Mike let out a relieved sigh, both surprised and angry to feel anything but disgust for the asshole.

The video ended, and Mike could breathe again.

If that was link number one, he thought, what was waiting for him on link number two? Squinting, he opened it and entered the password.

A view of Harvey's bedroom filled the screen.

"What the ever-loving fuck …?"

He noticed that in addition to the main view, there were two thumbnails at the bottom of the screen. The first one turned out to be a view of Harvey's shower. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was empty. He tried the second thumbnail, and found himself looking at Harvey's living room. The man himself sat in his recliner, holding an iPad which looked like the twin of Mike's, and tapping rapidly.

Mike received another message.

_"I see you opened my first text. Did you watch it? Do you see, now? Do you understand?"_

Mike did not understand, and he had too many questions to waste time tapping them out on the screen keyboard. He picked up his phone and called Harvey.

"What is all this?" he asked, suspicion filling his voice. "Why did you do that to Blake? I never asked for that."

"Don't pretend you feel bad for him."

"No. I don't. It's just … it was disturbing to watch, that's all."

"Nowhere near as disturbing as watching what he did to you. He got exactly what was coming to him. Well, maybe not _exactly._ "

The stir-fry chicken he'd eaten threatened to make a reappearance. "Oh, fuck, Harvey. Promise me you won't do … _that."_

"I'm done with Blake. He's been contemplating a move to LA, and has decided that there's no time like the present."

Hearing that Blake was leaving the area eased a dense knot of tension inside Mike he hadn't been conscious of carrying. "Okay. Well, I guess I approve, then, although your taste for overkill concerns me. Which brings me to …" He shook his head at the image on the screen. "What is this? What are you doing?"

"I should think it's obvious. I'm gifting you with your own private livestream of me. Work hours are necessarily off limits, but whenever I'm home …"

"But … _why_?"

"Again, it's obvious."

"Maybe to you, it is."

"Quid pro quo, Clarice," Harvey deadpanned, probably thinking he was being funny.

"The fact that you're quoting one of cinema's most diabolical serial killers – a cannibal, no less – does absolutely nothing to reassure me."

"I'll spell it out for you, then. You had the right idea. The video you took was planted firmly in 'eye for an eye' territory. It didn't go far enough, though."

Mike snorted out a laugh. "And you don't think this goes _too_ far?" When Harvey didn't answer, he added, "How long do you intend to keep the stream open?"

"For as long as you want."

"Hm. Isn't a little egotistical to think I even want to watch you in your natural habitat?" Which he acknowledged to himself was a stupid question. “Egotistical” and “Harvey” were synonymous.

"You don't want to watch me do this?" Harvey loosened his tie and pulled it off with a showy flourish, and then began unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm putting down the phone now and hanging up. Watch or don't watch." His shirt fell to the floor. "I'm betting you do watch me. And know this: you have a standing invitation to come over and join me whenever you want.”

The line went dead.

Mike kept the stream on until Harvey was down to his boxer briefs. It required a certain strength of will to turn it off, and maybe he didn’t have enough of that, but his reservoirs of spite and resentment put him over the top.

 

******

 

Mike woke early, horny, and curious. Lingering drowsiness smothered his scruples, so he was able to turn on the iPad and open Harvey’s livestream without suffering much self-examination or recrimination.

He found Harvey in the bedroom, and he was – oh, God, he was naked, on top of the covers, and masturbating so enthusiastically, so magnificently that Mike thought his own heart might stop and this would be the last thing he’d ever see … and he was fine with that.

Harvey’s head was tipped back, exposing the beautiful line of his throat. He had his feet planted on the mattress while he stroked his fully erect cock. And … Mike used thumb and forefinger to zoom in. Holy fuck. There was something protruding from his ass. He turned up the sound, and heard the soft, unmistakable hum of a vibrator.

That did it. With no conscious decision, Mike found his own cock in his hand. He stroked himself off, syncing his movements with Harvey’s. When Harvey’s back arched, Mike’s back arched. When Harvey yelled sharply, Mike cursed under his breath. And when Harvey came, creaming over his fist, Mike tossed the iPad gently away from himself to keep it cum-free, and creamed over his own fist, turning his belly and thighs into a sticky mess.

As he struggled to catch his breath, he could hear Harvey’s heavy breathing waft faintly from the speakers.

Fully awake now, and remembering all the reasons why Harvey was a bad man (full stop), Mike was filled with post-coital shame and regret. It wasn’t a new feeling for him, but the cyber-voyeur aspect added a new twist to an old story. He sighed, drifted for a minute or two, thought about taking a shower, and then grabbed for the iPad and tapped one of the thumbnails.

Yup, there Harvey was, in the shower, giving himself an exceedingly slow and thorough wash. Mike couldn’t tear his eyes from him. Wet Harvey was even more beautiful than non-wet Harvey. How was that even fair?

By the time Harvey was out of the shower and toweling off, Mike was hard again, tugging on his sensitive cock to the point of pain, and spurting dregs while he cursed Harvey, his ancestors, his children, and his children’s children to the third and fourth generation.

With that out of his system (for now), he powered down the pad and stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. That had been … he searched for a word.

A little bit twisted?

Alarmingly co-dependent?

Good, clean fun?

Bad, dirty fun?

No matter how he chose to label it, one thing was for certain: it had been hot as hell.

He couldn’t wait to do it again.


	9. Chapter 9

Mike put up a valiant fight against his urges.

He buried the iPad in a drawer underneath his socks and underpants. It stayed there for nearly half a day.

He signed up for Netflix using Harvey’s credit card information and fell headfirst into a _Downton Abbey_ binge hole until his eyes felt like sandpaper and he began to think in a British accent.

He downloaded a variety of books and attempted to lose himself in words until eye strain got the better of him and the letters on the screen bounced around nonsensically behind fractured, sparkly afterimages.

When his vision returned to normal, he gave in to temptation and opened Harvey’s livestream. It was evening, and Harvey was busy eating dinner. A glass of scotch sat at his elbow. Due to the placement of the camera, Mike could see only his back and a narrow slice of his face. Even so, he couldn’t stop watching.

He admired Harvey’s wide shoulders, the elegant line of his back, the way his hair lay against the nape of his neck. Curious as to what Harvey was having for dinner, he zoomed into the counter and saw it was a reuben sandwich, with Russian dressing oozing out between thick slabs of marble rye. Mike’s mouth watered at the sight of it, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

Carrying the iPad to the kitchen, he propped it up where he could keep an eye on the screen and pulled out the ingredients for glazed pork chops with sweet potato fries and coleslaw. As he put the meal together, he watched Harvey finish his sandwich, crumple up the wrapping paper, clear off the counter, and carry his drink to the living room.

Nothing sexy about this. If anything, Harvey looked bored and a little melancholy. He sat in his armchair, opened his laptop and started in on whatever work he’d brought home with him. Nope, definitely not sexy, but Mike still could not keep his gaze off of him. It almost felt as if they were together again, in the same room. He had an unobstructed view of Harvey’s face now. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he’d forgotten about the camera broadcasting every twitch, and keystroke, and discontented sigh.

With his meal prepared, Mike plated it and carried it into the living/bedroom. He reclined on the bed, back resting against the headboard, and wedged the iPad between his knees, so he could keep watching Harvey while he ate. This was better than Netflix. He wished he’d started dinner sooner, so they could have eaten together. And yeah, that was weird. Wasn’t it?

An urge to phone Harvey gripped him, but he wrestled it down. Harvey might or might not suspect that Mike was watching him. He preferred to imagine that he was seeing Harvey in a completely unguarded moment, that he was viewing the devious, unscrupulous manipulator at rest, with the possibility of witnessing his vulnerabilities and his human side – assuming he possessed either.

Setting his empty plate on the floor, Mike pulled the pad closer. Harvey’s brow furrowed as he consulted a file folder and then typed something on the laptop. His utter concentration at the task before him was strangely arousing. Mike zoomed in on Harvey’s face, stretching it until it filled the screen.

God. That mouth. Those moles. Those cheekbones. Those dark, fathomless eyes, filled with secrets and mysteries, going from cold and dismissive to hot with passion in a blink. He wanted to see that heat again. He wanted to be the reason for the heat.

He could sit here, patiently waiting for something to happen. Why should he, though? This livestream was Harvey’s gift to him. Why shouldn’t he use it as he wished?

Mike gnawed on his lip, debating. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and picked up his phone.

He still had Harvey’s face on close-up, and watched the change in expression when the phone rang on his end. Already motionless, he grew utterly still, and his eyes darted to one side, lighting with anticipation. His face blurred and went out of frame. Mike hastily zoomed out in time to see Harvey pick up his phone, and then there he was, right in Mike’s ear.

“Mike,” he said, a bit breathless, even though he’d been doing little more than sitting still for the last half hour.

“I’m watching you.”

Harvey looked directly into the camera and smiled slowly, sending an electric thrill through Mike. It felt as if his heart turned over in his chest.

“Do you like what you see?”

“I – ” Of course he did. What wasn’t to like? Mike licked his lips. “Would you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

Mike’s breathing slowed and deepened as he considered the possibilities. “Put the phone on speaker and set it down.” When Harvey had done as he’d asked, Mike said, “Get rid of the laptop. Okay. Now unzip you pants.”

Mike thrust a hand into his pajama bottoms and rubbed himself as Harvey slid down the zipper of his dress pants.

“Unfasten them and pull out your cock. No, don’t take your pants off. Leave them on.”

“Are you touching yourself?” asked Harvey with an arrogant, knowing grin.

Mike tugged on his cock. “No,” he whispered, “you are.”

Heat flared in Harvey’s eyes. “I see. What, uh – ” He stroked himself lazily. “What does my hand feel like? Does it feel good?”

“It feels, um, hard and strong, and warm. You’re touching me just the way I like it.” His hand sped up. “You’re going a little faster now, a little rougher.”

On the screen, Harvey matched his pace. “Yeah? You like it like that? You like it a little rougher?”

Mike propped the phone on his shoulder, pulled his pajama pants down to his knees and jammed a pillow under his hips to raise them up. He sucked on his finger and then thrust it into himself, whining at the quick, delicious flare of pain.

“What was that, Mike? What are you doing? Tell me.” Harvey’s hand was a blur on the screen as he masturbated.

“I’m … your finger is inside me. You’re fucking me with your finger, and yeah, _ohgod_ , right there.” He worked his hole with one hand and stroked himself with the other, and it was stupid and a little crazy, but he wished he had a camera on him, and that Harvey could watch him while he watched Harvey. “I’m … wait. Just hold on for one second.”

It hurt to stop what he was doing, but he needed both hands to figure out the video feature on the iPad and get it positioned in the best spot to record himself, then minimize the image so he could resume watching Harvey.

“I’m back, he said breathlessly into the phone. “Where were we? Keep going.” Mike took hold of himself again and moaned, low and guttural.

Harvey must have been close. It took only half a dozen more strokes and then he was coming over his fist, making a mess of his pants and shirt.

“Fuck, yeah,” Mike panted, “Nice.” His hand sped up. “Someday, you’re going to do that for me fully dressed in your suit and tie.” The resulting image that filled his head stoked the heat in him into a full-blown conflagration, and sent him over the edge with a harsh cry. Keeping his eyes closed, he stroked himself through a minute or more of aftershocks. When he looked at the screen again, Harvey still had his soft dick in his hand, and seemed to be straining to hear every sound that came out of his phone.

Mike halted the recording. “Okay. I’m done with you. Have a good night.”

He disconnected. Harvey’s annoyed expression had him smiling, until the annoyance faded and changed to wistful disappointment. That wasn’t the image Mike wanted to carry with him.

Next time, he’d close the stream before he hung up the phone.

Next time.

Oh, shit, there was going to be a next time, wasn’t there?

A dozen next times. A hundred. A thousand.

Closing his eyes, Mike chewed on his thumbnail and forced himself to accept that fact that he had an addiction. Maybe he should do some research, and see if he could find a meeting in his neighborhood of Bad Boyfriends Anonymous.

His eyes flew open. _Boyfriend?_

“No,” he exclaimed sharply, surprising himself with both the volume and the vehemence. “No, no, no. This is not – That wasn’t – He isn’t – ”

He glared at the ceiling, reviewing every bad thing that Harvey had done since he met him, running down the list, first in chronological order, and then by magnitude of awfulness. This calmed him for a few minutes, until his stupid brain switched over to cataloging the thoughtful things Harvey had done. The presents. The food service. The furniture. The iPad of sex. Harvey himself, live and unfiltered, broadcast straight to the iPad of sex for Mike and Mike alone.

_Ugh,_ thought Mike, _what a bastard._

Even inside his head, the appellation didn’t hold the venom that it used to. In fact, it sounded almost fond.

Mike jammed a pillow over his face, wondering how long he’d have to hold it there until he smothered to death.

Remembering something, he removed the pillow and sent the video file to Harvey.

After a moment’s consideration, he turned off both the iPad and his phone and settled in for a night of solitary brooding and self-recrimination.

 

******

 

On his next overnight shift at the restaurant, Gil finally made the move Mike had been half-expecting since he’d revealed he’d been a subscriber to the livestream. When the restaurant was empty except for the two of them, he waited until Mike entered the walk-in refrigerator for more half-and-half, and backed him up between shelves holding eggs and five-gallon tubs of potato salad. He held Mike in place with one hand to his throat.

“You owe me two dollars.”

Mike had forgotten about the two dollars. He had well over that in his wallet, but he suspected this wasn’t about the money. Already guessing what Gil’s response would be, he managed to choke out, “Let me go, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Nah.” Eyes glittering, Gil shook his head. His mouth lowered towards Mike’s neck. “I’ll take it in trade.”

Blind panic filled Mike. This could not be happening again. As Gil rubbed off on his thigh and mouthed his neck, Mike stretched out an arm and fumbled for anything he could use as a weapon. The first thing his hand encountered was a plastic gallon jug of milk. He grasped the handle and swung the jug at Gil’s head. It sloshed as it thudded against his ear, and bounced, doing little if any damage.

Gil lifted his head. “Ow,” he said accusingly.

Mike swung the jug again, this time aiming for the top of Gil’s head, and putting more force behind it. He doubted anyone had ever been brained into unconsciousness with a jug of milk, but the counterattack surprised Gil enough that his hold on Mike loosened, allowing him to slip underneath his arm and lunge for the door. Gil grabbed the back of his apron, yanking him back. Mike’s flailing hands found a cardboard tray of eggs, which he overturned and smashed against Gil’s head. Next, he shoved a huge tub of potato salad straight into his gut, wringing an _oof_ of pain from him.

Having gained a few seconds, he burst through the door into the kitchen, and sprinted for the dining room, snatching up his jacket as he passed the coatrack. A few customers had arrived, and milled uncertainly near the front door. Mike shoved unceremoniously past them, snarling, “Hi, I’m Mike, and I will _not_ be your fucking server tonight,” surprised and a little proud that his voice didn’t shake.

As he strode out into the bracing, early morning coolness, reaction set in and he started to tremble. Part of him wished he’d stuck around a little longer to teach Gil a lesson. The rest of him laughed at that stupid, overly-optimistic part. What did he think he could do? Pummel him to death with a block of cheese?

Too worked up to head home, he kept walking, taking long, agitated strides while his emotions see-sawed between anger and disbelief. So, that was that. Unemployed again. He could complain to Melvin about Gil, but who would Melvin believe? The ex-porn star, or his own brother-in-law? And did he really want to keep the job? No, he didn’t. He’d ruined his chances for a legitimate reference, but he knew that Harvey would step up again.

Harvey would provide a fake reference. Harvey would pay his rent. Harvey would feed him, and clothe him, and perform live sex acts for him.

Mike stopped walking.

Harvey would do anything for him. He’d said so, and Mike had sort of believed him, but it hadn’t hit him until just now that he had never – _never_ – had that before in his life. He didn’t doubt that if he asked it of him, Harvey would send his three masked men to Melchior’s to exact vengeance upon Gil. Mike would never do that. Memories of what the Three Amigos had done to Blake still made him queasy.

Still, somehow, between all the devious, manipulative behavior, the borderline trafficking, and setting Blake on him … between Mike’s outrage and contempt and constant pushing him away – between all of that, it seemed that they had ended up as what any objective observer would name “boyfriends.”

And the really wild, insane part of the whole epiphany, was that Mike didn’t mind. At one point – almost all other points, actually – he would have laughed off the notion, protested vociferously, and perhaps punched the nose of whoever dared suggest it.

Now? Now, after his disturbing run-in with Gil, the only person he wanted to see, the person he wanted to run to, was Harvey. It was fucked up, absurd, unthinkable just a week ago, but there it was. He wanted Harvey.

He pictured the iPad waiting at home for him. He could go there, turn it on to a view of Harvey sleeping, watch to see if he came awake gradually, or surged out of bed at the sound of his alarm. If he was lucky, maybe Harvey would gift him with an early morning beat-off session. Mike hesitated for a few seconds over this seductive image, and then shook his head decisively. He raised a hand to flag down a cab and gave the driver Harvey’s address.

 

******

 

The doorman at Harvey's building was not inclined to let him in without checking with Harvey first, even though Mike was certain he recognized him. Maybe it was the smell of French fries and bacon that clung to him, or maybe it was the unhinged gleam in his eyes, or possibly it was the early hour (just after four in the morning). Whatever the case, Harvey must have given him the go-ahead, because he let him the building with only the subtlest of side-eyes.

The door to Harvey's condo was open when Mike stepped off the elevator. Harvey stood just inside the threshold wearing only wrinkled pajama pants, scrubbing one hand through his hair and blinking sleep from his eyes. When he caught sight of Mike, he went perfectly still.

"Mike? What is it?"

Mike hesitated, and then walked straight forward, into Harvey's arms. They folded around him, not reaching for his crotch, or cupping his ass, or yanking his hair back aggressively. Harvey just held him, let him twine his arms around Harvey's neck and tuck his face against his shoulder.

Mike breathed in the familiar scent of him and allowed him to prop him up, because illogical as it was, this was the only safe harbor he had in a world that made no sense to him. After a time, Harvey placed his hands on his shoulders and stepped back to peer into his face, and Mike heard a piteous whimper break from own his throat at the loss of closeness.

"You're trembling," said Harvey. "What's happened?"

Mike shook his head, not trusting his voice. He let Harvey lead him to the sofa and sit him down.

"Do you need a drink?"

Mike shook his head again before amending, "Maybe some water."

Harvey brought him a glass of ice water. The cubes clinked together as Mike brought it to his mouth and drank deeply. Fortified, he eyed Harvey sidewise. "I, uh, sort of lost my job."

"Lost?"

"Quit."

Nodding slowly, Harvey digested the news. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Would he? Not really, but heard himself saying, "My co-worker is a jerk." He lifted the glass for another sip.

"Is he? Want me to beat him up for you?"

Mike choked on the water, coughing for several seconds. "No. It's fine. He's not unscathed. I scathed him good and hard with a jug of milk, so ..."

"Ah. Well, here's hoping he's lactose intolerant."

This surprised a snort of laughter out of Mike. "That was … terrible." A reluctant smile played over his lips. Harvey wasn't smiling, but his dark eyes shone with what could have been humor, or affection or …

Mike dropped his gaze, and then swallowed hard as found himself face-to-face with Harvey's bare chest. He set his glass on the floor and rested his chilled hands on Harvey's pecs, causing him to suck in a quick breath. His nipples grew instantly hard.

Mike had come over here with something in mind besides sex – or something in addition to sex. He couldn't remember what it was.

"So …" Mike petted Harvey's nipples with his thumbs. "Were you sleeping when I got here?"

Harvey set a finger beneath Mike's chin and gently raised his face so that they were looking at one another again. "Dare I hope," he murmured, "that the agenda of this early morning visit includes a booty call?"

Mike raised a hand and waggled it back and forth. "Partially? Maybe fifty-fifty. Or sixty-forty?"

Harvey palmed the side of Mike's neck. "What comprises the other forty percent?"

Something warm and electric worked its way down Mike's body, pinging every nerve ending along the way. He shivered. "I don't know. I wanted to see you."

"The livestream – "

"Doesn't allow me to do this." Mike mouthed Harvey's collarbone, licked a slow stripe up his neck, and bit down on his earlobe. "Or this." He kissed Harvey, slow and wet and thorough. Harvey's hand cupped the back of his head.

They sank into the kiss together, sank into lust, and longing, and forgiveness, and more lust. When Mike surfaced, he found himself on his back, with Harvey's body pressing him into the sofa. He hooked one leg around the back of Harvey's, sighing happily at the feel of Harvey's hands unfastening his pants.

"Wait," he panted. "Are those cameras still on?"

Harvey pushed up, hovering over Mike, chagrin on his face. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'll turn them off."

Mike licked his lips, keeping his hands pressed to Harvey's ass to hold him in place. "No, don't. I mean, no one else will ever see that stream, right?" _Harvey had called him sweetheart. Holy crap._

"Only you. That's why I gave you the password."

"Are they recording, or just streaming?"

"Both."

Mike thrust his hands down the back of Harvey's pajama pants, clutching his warm, muscular ass. "Good. Leave them on." At Harvey's raised eyebrow, he explained, "We could review them later … for pointers."

Harvey pressed him down for another kiss, grinding his hips against Mike's, and grinding their erections together.  "God, you're a dirty, slutty little genius. I love that."

Mike's heart nearly stopped at the _I love,_ and then started up again when Harvey finished the sentence with _that,_ instead of the expected pronoun.

Expected and hoped for?

No. No, no, no. That was too much. He craved Harvey, could finally admit that he maybe liked him a little, and believed Harvey felt the same way. Anything more than that was too much. Grinding together on the couch might be his in his comfort zone, but hoping for anything beyond his next orgasm most assuredly was not.

Speaking of his next orgasm, it wasn't long in coming. Harvey flipped him over and eased his pants down. He fit his cock between Mike’s ass cheeks and thrust against him while his hand slipped underneath Mike to stroke him until he was squirming and pleading for his release. He trembled at the edge for long minutes, until Harvey husked in his ear, "Come for the camera," and he did, as Harvey did the same, making a hot, sticky mess of his back and thighs.

Harvey collapsed on top of him, and Mike wished they could stay like this forever, not speaking, not thinking about the future, not admitting what a colossal mistake this had likely been.

Eventually, they got up and cleaned themselves off. Harvey led him to the bedroom, shooting quick glances at Mike, as if he still couldn’t believe he was there. Mike sort of felt the same way.

They lay down together, and Mike relaxed into Harvey’s embrace, deciding to postpone the inevitable regrets and second-guessing until after he’d gotten some sleep.

“We’ll talk in a few hours,” Harvey whispered against the back of his neck, almost as if he’d read his mind.

“I’ll be right here.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

“Are you done being mad at me yet?”

Mike squinted over at Harvey where he lay next to him on the bed, head propped on his hand. Judging by the angle of sunlight falling across the bed, it was somewhere around mid-morning. Harvey should be at work by now, but he’d texted his assistant earlier to say he’d be delayed.

It was difficult to think clearly so soon after Harvey had sucked his brains out through his dick, but Mike did his best to focus on the question.

“Are you done giving me reasons to be?” he countered.

A lengthy pause, while Harvey mulled this over. “I’ll do my best not to.”

“Wow. How reassuring.”

Harvey edged closer and rested a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “How’s this? I can promise with a reasonable degree of confidence that I won’t make the same mistakes again.”

“In other words, new and improved mistakes? New and improved ways of pissing me off?”

“I’m a work in progress.” Harvey said this with such unconcern that Mike had to chuckle.

Mike rolled toward him, into his embrace, savoring the way their bodies aligned and the way Harvey’s arms made him feel when they wrapped around him. “You’re a work, all right,” he muttered against Harvey’s chest.

“Excuse me?”

Letting out a slow breath, Mike decided he wasn’t up for a fight this morning. “Don’t you need to go to the office today?”

“I pushed everything back until after lunch. We have a few hours.”

“A few hours for what?” He arched an eyebrow suggestively.

Harvey stared at Mike’s mouth, clearly contemplating a kiss, but then he sighed, and when he spoke again, he sounded reluctant. “Let’s get up and have some coffee. I have something I want to discuss with you.”

Mike supposed that “discuss” was an improvement over “decree,” or “coerce into,” so he got out of bed, pulled on his jeans as Harvey shrugged into his robe, and followed him out to the kitchen. Harvey busied himself making coffee.

They sat side by side at the kitchen counter, neither of them speaking, waiting for the coffee to finish. The couple of minutes that this took were enough for all of Mike’s doubts to resurface. Had he made a mistake coming over here? Was he completely nuts for even thinking about forgiving Harvey and letting the past go? Should he call Melvin and plead for his job back? Come to think of it, he’d never officially quit. He could claim illness, or –

A full mug of coffee appeared in front of him. He gave Harvey a grateful sidelong glance, picked up the mug and sipped, ordering his brain to shut up, or at least slow down.

“I don’t want you to worry about the future,” said Harvey.

“Who, me? What’s there to worry about? No job? Rent due in a week?” _His decision to crawl back here to reunite with his morally ambiguous former host? No, just say the word: “boyfriend.”_ Mike’s face contorted, which Harvey misinterpreted as an entirely different sort of distress.

“I’m serious, sweetheart. I’ll take care of your rent. Unless you’d rather I break the lease, so you can move back here?” Harvey peered at Mike. “No, you’re clearly ambivalent about the idea.”

“Yeah. Ambivalent. Let’s go with that.”

“Well. We can put a pin in that for a later discussion. For now, let’s focus on one thing at a time. I would be perfectly fine with you never working again, if you’d allow me to support you.”

“No.”

“I thought you might say that. So, we need to find you a job.”

_We?_ Mike liked the sound of that far too much. Flustered, he took a long drink of coffee. “I’ll need another bogus reference from you. Know any restaurants that are hiring?”

“I believe we can do better than that.”

Diffidence was an unfamiliar look on Harvey, but he wore it now.

Mike groaned. “Is this going to be one of those new, improved ways you’ve come up with to piss me off?” He imagined Porn Star Redux, or paid visits from carefully selected clients. Why had he thought coming back here was a good idea?

“I don’t know what you’re assuming,” said Harvey, “but if the look on your face is anything to go by, I have a feeling I should be insulted.” When Mike opened his mouth to respond, Harvey held up a hand. “Why don’t I just tell you? After that, you can decide how appalled you would like to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about offering you a job at my firm.”

Mike’s mouth, which he’d opened to deliver a stinging rebuke, snapped shut. “At your firm? As what?” So far, the idea appealed to him, but he’d been too conditioned to be skeptical about Harvey’s motives.

“We have an opening for a paralegal.”

“An ‘opening’?” Mike made air quotes.

“Yes. As it happens, one of our best paralegals has decided to go to law school.”

“How much does it pay?”

Harvey named a number that had Mike gaping at him in disbelief. He tried to play it cool. “Oh. That’s not bad.” He thought about it for a minute. “What, exactly, does a paralegal do?”

“They support the attorneys in a variety of ways. Research, drafting documents, prepping for trial, organizing evidence and files, interviewing possible witnesses. Whatever the attorney asks them to do.”

“That would be you? You’d be the one giving me assignments?” Mike didn’t hate the idea, not exactly, but it did make him suspicious. Was this only some busywork bullshit that would keep Mike under Harvey’s thumb without him being completely obvious about it?

Harvey poured them both some more coffee. “Not just me. You’d be available for assignments with any attorney who needs you.”

“For work. For office work. That’s it, right? Nothing weird or … or … extracurricular?”

“Absolutely not. Not for anybody besides me.”

That coaxed a laugh from Mike. “I suppose I could live with that. To be clear, this is a real job? Not another – ” _Not another one of Harvey’s traps,_ he wanted to say, but observing the look of hurt that flashed on Harvey’s face for a split second, he thought better of it.

“How about a trial basis?” suggested Harvey. “Come work at the firm for a month. If you decide it’s not for you, no harm, no foul. We’ll find you something else.”

“And I can leave anytime I want?”

“Yes, but I hope you’ll give us a fair chance.”

Mike gave him a level stare, half a dozen responses vying for dominance in his head, ranging from acerbic, to … even more acerbic. Just by coming here yesterday, he’d given Harvey a fairer chance than he deserved. He kept quiet though, because the thought of going back to his tiny apartment, both jobless and Harvey-less, was more upsetting than the possibility of discovering that Harvey’s apparent reformation was not entirely authentic.

“Okay, but …” Grimacing, he pictured his current wardrobe, which consisted exclusively of jeans and t-shirts and hoodies. “Is there a dress code?”

Harvey nodded. “Of course. Suit and tie. Use me as an example. You won’t need custom-tailored suits, although if I had the time today, I’d introduce you to my tailor, just for the pleasure of sitting and watching him feel you up with his tape measure. For now …”

He got up, went into the bedroom, and returned with his wallet. Extracting a credit card, he slid it across the counter to Mike. “Go somewhere nice and get yourself half a dozen suits. Make sure they fit. If they need to be altered, put a rush on it. Don’t worry about the cost. Be sure to leave with at least one you can wear tomorrow. You’ll need shirts, ties, shoes, socks. Keep it conservative. Ask the salesperson for advice, if you need it.”

Mike picked up the American Express card and eyed it doubtfully. “What if they try to ‘pretty woman’ me?”

“Then they’d be idiots who deserve to lose their commission. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. This isn’t Rodeo Drive.”

Mike shrugged, still feeling unsure. He was used to shopping at Walmart and thrift stores, not Nordstrom, or Bergdorf’s, or … wherever.

Perhaps picking up on his uncertainty, Harvey petted his arm soothingly. “Cheer up. Have fun with it. And text me pictures of what you try on. I’ll let you know if you’re on the right track.”

Getting ideas, Mike smiled slyly. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“No dick pics.”

“Huh. Not something I ever thought I’d hear you say.”

“Maybe give me credit for trying?”

For trying to change? Mike would give him all the credit he deserved, but he wasn’t sure he entirely liked the idea.

 

******

 

Between a helpful and attentive salesperson named Jordan, Harvey’s input via text, and Mike’s own vivid memories of Harvey dressed for work, Mike’s shopping experience turned out to be more enjoyable than he’d expected. He left the store with two suits he could wear immediately. The remaining four would be available in a couple of days. He wasn’t in love with the ties Harvey and Jordan picked out for him, but he had to admit they did make him look the part of a well-compensated Manhattan paralegal. He could have even passed for an attorney, but that was a fantasy upon which it was best not to dwell.

Harvey had texted him to let him know he'd made an appointment to get his hair cut. Mike blanched at the price, but it was all on Harvey's dime, so he let the stylist have her way with him, and ended up with a short, stylish cut he liked.

Even though he’d acquired the proper camouflage, Mike was surprised at how nervous he felt accompanying Harvey into the building the next morning. They’d argued the night before about where he should spend the night. Mike finally capitulated and stayed with Harvey again. By the time morning arrived, he was exhausted, sore everywhere, and dotted with bruises, none of which were visible, thanks to Harvey’s strategic placement. Award the guy more points for thoughtfulness.

As he suited up, and allowed Harvey to knot his tie for him, it seemed as if the hours of energetic sex had drained most of his anxiety, along with his precious bodily fluids. However, when he exited the town car and stood next to Harvey, craning his neck to stare up at the high-rise, all his reservations and insecurities flooded back in.

“Shit,” he muttered, so that only Harvey could hear him. “They’ll all see right through me. What am I even doing here?”

Ignoring the tide of people crowding the sidewalk, Harvey placed a hand on the back of Mike’s neck, and _fuck yes,_ that did it, calming him instantly, and making him hard inside his moderately expensive wool-blend pants.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Harvey told him.

“Yeah? How? I don’t know the first thing about being a paralegal.”

“Sweetheart, I lived with you for over six months. My focus may have been primarily on defiling your gorgeous body, but I could hardly fail to notice your genius brain. Keep your ears open, follow instructions, and if you have any questions, come see me.”

Mike frowned, not caring for the image of himself running to Harvey every time he had a problem. He did appreciate the offer, though. “So, you did notice,” he said, tone light. “My genius brain, that is. I’m a little surprised, considering how many times you’ve called me an idiot.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever done that.”

“You’ve implied it often enough.”

Harvey gave Mike’s neck a gentle squeeze before transferring his hand to us upper arm and towing him toward the front doors. “Let’s just add that to my growing list of regrets, shall we? In the meantime, it wouldn’t do to be late on your first day.”

“Doesn’t being your boy toy give me special privileges?”

“You’re not my – okay, maybe you are a little, but no, here at the office you’re just another employee. No special privileges.”

Except, really, being offered the job to begin with sort of put the lie to that. Mike didn’t point that out, though. He was too busy pasting on his game face and oscillating between giddy excitement and pure dread.

 

******

 

“Mike, you remember Donna, my assistant, don’t you?”

Mike squinted at her. She looked familiar. It took him a moment, but then his eyes widened as he dredged up a fuzzy memory of her standing over his bed, counting out pills. “Sure, sure,” he said distractedly, wondering how much she knew about what went on during his months at Harvey’s place.

Donna blatantly sized him up. “You look better than you did the last time I saw you. Glad to see that Harvey managed to nurse you back to health.”

“He’s … a nurturing guy.”

Behind him, Harvey choked on his coffee. When he spoke, his voice trembled with suppressed laughter. “We should let Donna get back to her job. Why don’t I show you where you’ll be working?”

Mike accompanied Harvey down the hall, whispering to him out of the side of his mouth, “Does Donna know?”

“I’d ask, ‘about what?’ but the universal answer is, probably.”

“About me. Us. The cameras.”

“Oh, that.”

“Well? Does she?”

Harvey sighed and stopped walking. He eyed Mike seriously. “I’ve never shared that hobby with anyone here at the firm, which you would realize if you applied even a miniscule amount of critical thinking.”

Getting a sudden, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Mike asked, “Will you resurrect that hobby? With someone new, that is.”

“No. I’m done with all that.”

Reasonably sure of the answer, but still needing to hear it, Mike pressed, “Really? How can you be sure?”

Harvey glanced up and down the hallway, making sure they were alone. “Because I don’t have the stomach for it anymore. Not after …”

“Not after what?”

Dropping his voice to the barest murmur, Harvey said, “After Blake.” His jaw tightened. “I’ll never stop trying to make up for that, and I'll never stop trying to convince you that I’m no longer that bad man you claimed could never be redeemed.” He scowled at the floor for a few seconds, and then gave his head a rough shake. “This topic is off limits at work from now on. All right?”

“Sure.” They continued down the hallway, and Mike tried to ignore the feeling in his belly of a thousand tiny, fluttering wings.

He had other things to think about besides Harvey, namely how he was going to convince his new co-workers that he wasn’t a complete fraud, and that he actually belonged here.

 

******

 

Ten hours later, Mike couldn’t speak for his co-workers, but he knew with absolute certainty that this was where he belonged. The work could be grueling and tedious, and most of the attorneys were total dicks, but for once in his life he was part of something that mattered. His legal knowledge was already encyclopedic, thanks to all the hours he’d spent at the Columbia Law Library devouring every book and journal he could get his hands on. The minutiae of procedures and forms caused him a bit of trouble, but he’d been assigned to Liz, a well-seasoned paralegal twice his age, who was surprisingly kind to him, and guided him over the rough spots.

By the time Harvey came to find him in the workroom he’d claimed for himself, Mike had already begun to formulate tentative plans for looking into, at some point in the future, the possibility of going to law school.

More than once, Liz had mentioned a former paralegal named Rachel Zane, whose departure had created the job opening Mike had been hired to fill. Except, Rachel hadn’t actually departed. She was currently attending law school, paid in full by the firm. She continued to work part time, and Mike determined that next time she came in he would search her out and ask her how she’d done it.

The door to the workroom opened and Harvey poked his head inside. “Ready to call it a night?”

Mike tossed his highlighter on the table, threw his arms up over his head and stretched, arching his back. “So soon? What’s the matter, old man? No stamina?”

Arching an eyebrow, Harvey stepped inside the room, closed the door, and locked it. “My stamina is just fine,” he said, voice low and sexy.

“Um.” Mike’s brain short-circuited as he caught sight of the look in Harvey’s eyes. “Is this … I mean … I read the employee manual, and I don’t think – ”

“Shut up,” ordered Harvey, mouth pulled into a filthy grin, “and get on your feet.”

Heart beginning to thud with excitement, Mike stood. He sucked in a quick breath as Harvey spun him around to face the table.

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. Lean all the way over the table and grab the far edge.” His hands went underneath Mike to unbuckle his belt and open his pants.

“Harvey, are you sure – ”

“What part of ‘shup up’ did you not understand?”

He understood just fine, and more or less approved, so he gave himself over to Harvey’s impromptu attack. Or maybe not so impromptu, he realized, when Harvey produced a tube of lube from his pocket and moments later jammed two slick fingers inside of Mike.

Mike’s pleased little sex grunts turned to full-throated moans as Harvey’s cock pushed into him. The documents on the table which he’d carefully arranged and annotated jumped around and fluttered to the floor when Harvey reached around him and jacked him off. Harvey came first, pulsing hotly into Mike and cursing against his neck. Mike followed soon thereafter, spattering his brand new pants and shoes, as well as the floor beneath the table.

Using a packet of wet wipes (nope, not impromptu at all), Harvey cleaned up the worst of it, and helped Mike put himself back together, at least enough so that he could exit the building with most of his dignity intact.

On the ride home, Harvey broke the comfortable silence. “I know it’s only been one day, but have you reached any conclusions yet?”

“I thought I had a month to decide.” He’d already decided, but it couldn’t hurt to keep Harvey guessing for a while longer. Who knew? Maybe he’d make quitting time workroom sex a regular thing, in order to sweeten the deal.

Mike would not mind that at all.

 

**Epilogue**

 

**One Week Later**

“I hope you brought enough of that for both of us,” said Benjamin, gesturing at the bag of microwave popcorn Donna carried into his office with her.

“Of course. Has everyone left already?”

“The minions? They clock out at five, like normal human beings, unlike the attorneys.”

She nodded at the computer screen. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nope. They're just getting started."

She snorted softly and extended the bag to him. "Like clockwork."

They munched popcorn companionably, eyes glued to the screen. The hidden camera in the corner of the workroom was positioned perfectly to capture the action on the table in the middle of the room. This evening, Harvey had put Mike up on the table, on hands and knees. As Donna and Benjamin watched, he thrust his tongue between Mike's parted ass cheeks.

Donna chortled and held out her hand, palm upward, to receive the twenty-dollar bill a scowling Benjamin placed on top of it. "Called it," she crowed.

"Exactly how close are you two?"

"Hey, it wasn't that hard to predict. They enjoy variety. Rimming was the logical progression from the beautifully executed sixty-nine of last night."

"Maybe." Benjamin zoomed in on Harvey's tongue action and discreetly rubbed himself through his pants.

Neither spoke for a while, as the action on the screen grew wilder and steamier. Harvey climbed up behind Mike and pumped into him for a good twenty minutes before they exploded together with accompanying shouts and curses.

"God," muttered Donna, "the cleaning crew must hate them."

Benjamin shot her a look, noting the flushed cheeks and bitten lips. He didn't doubt that her vibrator would be getting a vigorous workout later tonight. He considered, as he often had before, asking her if she'd like some company, but his nerves failed him, as always.

"Do you know how much money we could make if we recorded this stuff?" he asked. It was a well-worn argument, and he only brought it up now to cover his sudden awkwardness around her.

"You know as well as I do that Harvey is done with all that."

"Yeah, yeah. He's a new man. Blah, blah, blah. I give him three months – six tops – before he's bored and back to his old tricks."

"Maybe." She smiled wistfully. "I've never seen him even attempt to change before. He's really smitten."

"Ha. More like smutten."

Giving him a pitying look, she shook her head, and then let out a light laugh. "That's not even a word."

"But it's a mood."

She laughed again. " _You're_ a mood. Anyway, just don't forget what we agreed on." Onscreen, Harvey and Mike were finishing pulling up their pants and straightening the rest of their clothing. "This is only for our own amusement." She gave him a searching look. "No sharing outside of this room. You won't forget that, will you? I mean, I'd hate to have to … take action to prevent you from doing anything stupid, because except for your tendency to go poking around where you shouldn't, you're a real asset to the firm."

Benjamin swallowed hard. Had she just threatened him? He shook his head slowly. "No, that is, I understand completely. I will absolutely not share any of this."

Not anymore, he silently amended. His network of IT acquaintances who knew him as thunderman69 would be disappointed, but they still had the older recordings to keep them happy. Harvey might have cancelled the livestream, but the video files had already been spread far and wide.

People might change, but the internet was forever.

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
